


The Shadow's Triumph

by E James Todd (E_James_Todd)



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9455702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_James_Todd/pseuds/E%20James%20Todd
Summary: The road from Emond's Field was full of trials and danger - but what if the heroes had not survived the perils set against them? What if the night at Shadar Logoth had ended with a terrible consequence? Alternate history; all Wheel of Time content is copyright Robert Jordan, Brandon Sanderson, and Tor Books. Also posted on fanfiction.net





	1. Prologue

_Shadar Logoth_

The graveyard-city trembled with the presence of the Trolloc hordes. Misshapen heads in twisted bodies frantically searched through the growing mist, spurned onward by the sightless Myrddraal and the urge to hunt their quarry. Their paws and warped hands only just held onto their weapons as they fled down the streets chasing echoes in the night, half in fear of the Fades and half in fear of the city itself, and even the Myrddraal themselves nervously checked for the encroaching tendrils of Mashadar. Horns called out through the darkness, sounding throughout the ruins and calling out the locations of various Fists, and the Myrddraal moved the Trollocs under their command in kind as they swept through the broken roads.

A diminutive form slinked past the fists as they searched, slipping into one of the many deserted buildings along the causeway. Though she moved cautiously, the frenzied Trollocs never once noticed her as she wove her way through the tainted bones of civilization, as if some other force kept them from noticing her presence. Heedless of the fine fabric that made up her dress she moved as fast as she dared, crouching on rubble and waiting for the patrol to pass. A lifetime seemed to pass, the beastly soldiers an endless stream, then just as suddenly they moved on. Still she crouched in the shadows, watching for any last scouts to pass.

Not but a minute later, three terrified sentries barreled down the street in front of her. Instead of checking for signs of movement, they gave shrieks of fear, running from a shapeless mass behind them. One, with the head of a wolf, slowed as it neared her hiding place, its half-human eyes overtaken briefly by surprise, and it sniffed the air tentatively. In its moment of confusion, a tendril snaked forward from the fog behind it and latched onto its ankle. The Trolloc managed a short yip before its mouth was covered by another coil, circling around it as fast as thought, and its body seemed to glow with darkness before it vanished into the murk. Its comrades paused for not even a moment, flying down the street without a backwards glance.

The woman tarried for a moment longer before quickly moving herself through the buildings away from Mashadar. Past crumbling relics and fortunes untold she moved without pause; her charges were her only focus, distant though they were from each other, and from her. She crept as quickly as she dared to put distance between the cursed fog and herself, checking every now and again for any sign of the Fists that hunted them through the night.

Of a sudden, she became aware of a familiar presence hurdling toward her. Taking a single glance at the room she found herself in she fell into a defensive stance, readying a weave with as much haste as she dared. A precious second passed before a well-known face appeared through the doorway across from her, silent and dark as death. She lowered her arms, letting the weave dissipate. "Lan."

The Warder's eyes never stayed still as he sheathed his sword. "The way ahead is clear, for now," he muttered. He paused before looking at the woman, concern foremost in the knot of his mind in the back of her consciousness. "Two dozen Fists! There weren't even that many when they tried to come after the boys in the first place."

Moiraine took in a metered breath, willing herself into serenity. "The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills," she murmured, walking to his side as she spoke; then, after a pause, she added "though the Light send that it deliver us through this night unscathed."

If Lan heard her comment he chose to ignore it. "We have to hurry," he warned, turning as she reached him. "I don't know where all the sheepherders got to, but the Fists are moving toward the east of the city."

They cleared the building at a run, reaching the next street. Aldieb stood next to Mandarb, both patiently waiting for their riders' return. It was such a small thing, but in the midst of the night's events Moiraine's heart leapt at the sight of Aldieb unharmed. As one, Aes Sedai and Warder mounted, turning toward the Arinelle. They moved forward at a fast canter, a ward muffling the clatter of the horses' hooves on the stones. Neither of them spoke; nothing new could be said, until they found the travelers from Emond's Field. Moiraine forced herself through the calming exercises; but for one glance to her and the feeling of a wry grin, Lan kept silent as she did so. What was done was done, and the only thing to do was to move forward. She allowed for her own wry smile at the thought. Perhaps if she kept thinking that, the situation would become easier to bear after a time.

The horns suddenly called out in rapid succession in front of them, accompanied by a dull roar. The sound froze both of them for a brief instant. "By the Light," she breathed, "let it not be so." Lan needed no urging, racing forward toward the cacophony even as he unsheathed his sword. Moiraine followed close behind, embracing nearly as much of the One Power as she could hold. Every detail in the darkness stood out as clearly as on a moonlit night, every scent was suddenly stronger. She could feel her own determination mirrored in Lan, and she steeled herself for what lay before her. They would make it through this night. Light, but they _had_ to make it.

The road they traveled ended in a courtyard that could have been ripped straight from her worst nightmare. Trollocs swarmed out of every opening, all rushing toward two groups of fighters that were but barely able to stem the onslaught. She could make out the hulking form of a young man, stout and armed with a wicked axe that gave no pause when meeting with Trolloc flesh. Both blade and wielder were spattered in black blood. Beside him, a woman of an age with him, whirling a quarterstaff with deadly proficiency. They fought back to back, a desperation behind their moves that spoke both of their plight and their tiredness. Of the second group she could see no one, but that could not be her concern at the moment. Turning her attention to the masses in front of her, she raised her hand and channeled.

Amplified by the _sa'angreal_ in her hand, the weave of Fire and Air expanded out in front of her and engulfed a dozen Trollocs in fire. Their charge was unabated, but it carved a small opening in their numbers. Lan leapt into the fray from Mandarb's back and began dancing a nearly unfollowable pattern as he sliced through the solid wall of Shadowspawn. The Trollocs paused, confused at the sudden attack, and only at the urging of the Myrddraal did they try to fall into a defensive formation. Moiraine gave them no chance; she wove again, and blasted the front line of their formation to the ground. Surprised by the sudden obstacles, they fell into a writhing mass of limbs and fur, and the two youths were only just able to break free in the confusion. They both opened their mouths as if to speak, but Moiraine held up her hand to stem the commentary. "Take our horses," she commanded, climbing off Aldieb. "Ride to the river and find a way across. Wait for us one hour, then if all else fails make for Tar Valon."

"But Moiraine Sedai," Egwene protested. "What if—"

A pair of Trollocs charged at them, roaring as they sighted their prey. Without pause Moiraine wove again, Earth and Water causing the ground to give way under their weight. She turned back to the Emond's Fielders, who both had an appropriate amount of shock on their faces. "I give no room for discussion!" she snapped. "Ride now!" She paused from the battle just long enough to ensure that they had left before returning to the melee in front of her.

Lan was dueling two Myrddraal at once, the very picture of deadly grace. He parried and slashed with such blinding speed that even her eye was barely able to follow the moves. The sinuous motions of the Fades were just as quick, but she could see the vicious snarls on both their eyeless faces. They weren't used to having such a challenging opponent, let alone one that could fight two of them at once. Lan was a singular focus in the back of her mind, with no room for anything else save the fight at hand. She finished the Trollocs in front of her with a thin weave of Fire, then continued hammering away at their numbers in between her and the second band of fighters. Was it just her imagination, or had the feverish desperation overtaken her as well?

Fire and Air, Earth and Water, her life narrowed to the horde in front of her. Weave after weave met wave after wave, and neither she nor the Trollocs seemed to hold the advantage. She could feel the strain of channeling so much of the One Power, yet she held on; it was required of her, so there was no recourse. Of a sudden the Fist in front of her collapsed, writhing a few moments before lying still. She cast a glance at Lan. The severed head of one of the Myrddraal lay on the ground next to its thrashing body, limbs swinging wildly in death throes. Lan pressed his advantage, unleashing a furious rain of blows on the Fade. Teeth gritted, its pale face showed the closest thing she had ever seen to outright fear from a Shadowspawn. The pair of them kept at it, dancing to the side of the river of Trollocs, deadlocked, until Lan feinted forward. The Myrddraal took a step back, straight into the razor edge of a blackened Thakan'dar blade. It opened its mouth to scream, and without pause the Warder stabbed it through the heart and slashed open its neck. The Myrddraal's scream became a gurgle, black blood filling its wounds. Another group of Trollocs fell to the ground as the second Fade fell over the first, both bodies squirming as so much dying flesh.

Lan backed away from the skirmish, and he and Moiraine exchanged a wordless moment. _We might just make it_ , she found herself thinking. _Light above, but there is an end—_

A high-pitched shriek came from the second group. Turning, she saw the gaping form of one of the other Emond's Fielders. A Trolloc pike skewered her through and through, and she had been hoisted into the air. The hordes below roared in triumph, and those nearest the group began squabbling for a chance to reach the girl. _Nynaeve_ , she realized with a start. Eyes widening, she thought of Lan, praying that she had been wrong about her Warder's heart.

With an inhuman bellow of grief and pain, he slammed into the Trollocs closest to him, fighting as a man possessed to reach the second group. Her own heart caught in her throat, Moiraine wove as close to him as she dared, trying frantically to clear the way for him, doing her best to ignore the sight of Nynaeve's body being attacked and defiled. The True Source threatened to slip away from her, but she clung to it. One more weave, and he would be closer. One weave past that, and there would be fewer Trollocs. One weave more…

The One Power fled from her.

She cried out, watching as the scene unfolded in front of her even as the world dulled around her. Without the weaves holding them back, Shadowspawn flooded the courtyard anew. The Trollocs, now aware of an assailant, turned and converged on him. The man that had been al'Lan Mandragoran gave one final grunt, one more roar of defiance, and fell underneath their attack. She felt a stab of fear for the red-haired boy she could only just see, the young Rand al'Thor brandishing his sword at the encircling Trollocs, but her greater worry was for Lan. His wounds were too many for him to survive without Healing. She could feel his broken bones, the many gashes and cuts through which his blood came trickling out, but not a shred of thought for anything but death. Frantically she stared at the _sa'angreal_ , pushing to reach the True Source, yearning for its embrace, but it would not come. In the back of her mind she felt a concentrated needle of pain, burning hotter than the brightest flame, before Lan vanished from her mind.

Hollowness. Wrongness. The void where her Warder should have been left a pain beyond simple grief. She fought to keep from falling to her knees from the sudden lack. In the numb mindset that set in she looked toward the courtyard, idly knowing that she should be more concerned. Rand had clambered onto a broken fountain, Matrim Cauthon by his side. They had more cuts and slashes than should be possible for them to keep standing, but stand they did. A wicked knife in Matrim's hand kept the Shadowspawn at bay, and they seemed to howl in pain and fear at even the slightest cut from its edge. A part of her registered the oddity in the fact, but there seemed to be so much that she should be doing. It didn't matter. Lan was dead.

From his position Rand was able to hold off the throng with a few clumsy blocks and the occasional swipe, but for every Trolloc struck down or injured another took its place immediately. Sweat poured down his face, and he favored his left side as if he had taken a heavy blow. Moiraine leaned on a pillar, forcing herself to breathe, to think. She had to help them somehow. Lan was gone. Light, but the simple act of walking was a challenge! Clutching her arm, she lurched onto the street. A Myrddraal had wormed its way to the front of the group, steel blade black as despair flashing outward. There was nothing she could do. The Light help her, but she was helpless.

She had failed. The White Tower, the Amyrlin, the world. The Two Rivers folk, depending on her for guidance and protection. Lan. They were doomed, and she stood devoid of any power to stop it. The Fade raised its sword above its head, cackling in victory. Of Matrim there was nothing to be seen, and so Rand al'Thor stood alone, a lone boy against the combined powers of darkness. Another name to add to those she had failed.

As if she had voiced the thought he looked up, the blade moments away from impact. He caught her gaze with that stare, a piercing quality to his eyes. Moiraine couldn't say what held her, but for their age that defied his young years. When had his eyes seen so much? In the middle of so much chaos and evil he stood out, a mote of calm where aught else had vanished. He opened his mouth to speak to her, and even from the distance she could understand the words that were meant for her, words that she was certain would haunt her dreams if ever she survived this.

_Be at peace._

The blade struck true, and he crumpled. The many gathered Shadowspawn howled in triumph, descending upon the fallen boy, and it seemed as if the earth itself trembled under their advance. No, that wasn't right. The longer Moiraine stood there, the more certain she was that the earth was shaking. She stumbled, reeling against the force, and ran toward Lan's body. Pulling on his cape, she grunted at the effort of trying to move him. A violent tremor knocked her to the ground, and with a ripping sound she was left with only a corner of his cloak. She tried to get back to her feet, but as she did she noticed the very air around the square had darkened. Trollocs and Myrddraal alike looked about in a panic as the ground underneath the fountain cracked open, leaving a yawning maw in its place. Rand's body floated motionless for an instant, and the rift seemed to swallow the night itself in blackness. From everywhere, from nowhere, a voice resonated with a terrible power.

_I HAVE WON AGAIN, LEWS THERIN._

A column of umbral energy shot upward, buffeting and enveloping his body. The tremors began again, so strong that the buildings around the square began collapsing. Trolloc and Fade alike tried to escape, but the entire market seemed to fall into the expanding sinkhole. In the face of such unfathomable horror, when even the powers of the Shadow ran from its might unveiled, Moiraine did the only thing she could.

She ran, without thought for what might be following her. Clutching the scrap of cloth in one hand she ran with every last measure of strength left to her, toward the river, away from the unending nightmare. Lan was dead. By the Light, the Shadow had killed the Dragon Reborn! She forced her feelings down, stumbling with the tremors that fed on the strength of the last. Light preserve them, but what were they to do?

She broke clear of Shadar Logoth, slowed by the unexpected plant life underfoot. A voice shouted by the river, but she stood where she was dazed. The world was ending. The Shadow had won a great victory, perhaps the only victory it needed to. The ground shuddered again, and she fell to her knees. Despondency settled over her, and she very nearly let herself stay where she had fallen.

A hand on her shoulder made her involuntarily twitch. "Moiraine Sedai," she heard Egwene call excitedly, "we found Bela and one of the pack horses. And there's a ship waiting for you to arrive so we can leave! Perrin had to stay behind, but…" As if noticing the absences for the first time, the young girl paused. "Where's Lan? Where are Rand and the others?"

Moiraine winced at hearing his name. He should be here. He should have been protected. She had failed. "We need to move to Tar Valon quickly," she found herself saying, picking herself up and walking quickly in the direction of the river. "I do hope this ship will be fast enough to expedite our journey."

The girl trailed behind her, dogging her every step. "Moiraine Sedai?" she asked, worry creeping into her voice. "What happened to the others?"

Questions about what had happened. She couldn't think about that. With sheer determination she assumed a calmer nature, almost distancing herself from her inner turmoil. _Saidar_ shone brightly, comfortingly, and tantalizingly out of reach. She yearned for the stillness it held, but try as she might she still could not reach it. With reluctance she carried onward. "Our focus must needs be on surviving this night," she continued, surprised at the calm in her voice. "We must be on our way before we've nowhere to turn."

If Egwene had further questions, she drowned them out. Focus was what she needed. She still had charges to tend to, and the Trollocs may still decide they were worth hunting. Focus on the task at hand.

The ship was clearly visible once she crested the last of the hills. Two figures could be seen on the banks of the Arinelle, while the rest of the ship swarmed with activity. One of them she recognized as Perrin, his axe drawn and ready. The other was a man equally as stout, and by the cut of his attire she recognized him as an Illianer. As she approached Perrin nodded, his weapon lowering. "We've found a ship that can get us out of here, Moiraine Sedai. Master Domon will be waiting here until we've all come out."

Master Domon wagged his finger in Perrin's face. "Now you do listen here, boy," he growled, "the _Spray_ do be a transport ship only. It do no be a pleasure yacht for some highborn, and we do no be servants to order about at your pleasure! We set sail now. No, boy, I do no care if you wave that shiny butcher's toy in my face! As captain my word do be final, and we do be leaving now!"

Perrin's face darkened, but Moiraine cut into the conversation before the situation could be allowed to grow worse. "That is acceptable, Master Domon. If our horses have been seen to, I should like to depart as soon as you are able."

The captain blinked before starting his tirade again. "And who do you be, walking about like some Aes Sedai? You did no buy your passage, and I'll no be taking you on without good reason!"

Suppressing the urge to flare her nostrils in irritation, Moiraine raised her right hand so the great serpent ring could be seen clearly. "I am on official business of the White Tower, Master Domon. If compensation is required, I can assure you that we shall more than adequately provide for the price of passage. However, I must insist that we leave presently and make all possible haste toward Whitebridge; I would rather not wait for Shadowspawn to come within range of us."

Master Domon pursed his lips for a moment before nodding. "Fortune prick me, but that do be where the _Spray_ be headed. I do believe we can reach an agreement." Before he could say more he looked behind Moiraine, whipping out a knife. She turned, fearing the worst, and was greeted by the loping stride and patchwork cloak of Thom Merrilin. Sensing the impending question, she raised her voice. "Now would be an excellent time to prepare for departure, Master Domon. There are worse things than Trollocs to deal with in the days to come."

She could hear the man gasp behind her. "Blood and bloody ashes! What do be worse than dealing with Trollocs?"

Every loss, every death, became acutely aware to her. The hole where Lan used to be suddenly seemed to pulse with grief. Thom reached her side and took in a few breaths, looking at her quizzically as he steadied his breathing. He had not been lost, but so many had. The hope of the world had been lost. She pushed the feelings down, closing her eyes for a moment from the effort. "What form it may take, I do not yet know. But the Shadow has struck at the heart of us tonight. The Dragon Reborn is dead."

Silence from the group. She could see Thom's face mired in pain, and she nearly lost her own composure once more. Without waiting for anyone's response she made her way to the _Spray_ , walking up the gangplank and staring at the horizon.

An hour later, when they had left Shadar Logoth far behind, Moiraine found herself below deck in what stood for the first mate's quarters. She could not remember how she got there. Vague memories of being above deck with the survivors, of the crew commenting on some changed features of the landscape, but they were simply events to her. A fog had settled in on her mind, keeping her safe in apathy, safe from memories. She could not grieve until the Amyrlin Seat knew what had happened. She could not think about who had been lost, the hole that could not be filled in her mind.

A knock on her door warned her of the impending presence of the gleeman. His burly white moustache twitched once, a look of concern on his face. "I know that there are other important things to take care of, but I wanted to make certain you were alright," he offered. "It's more than sad, what happened tonight. We all lost…people we cared for."

Moiraine felt the fog threaten to dissipate, but she clung on to it. She cleared her throat, but words would not come. Instead she simply nodded, not looking at anything in particular.

Thom looked pensive for a second before allowing himself in the small space. "Egwene is giving a good cry up on the deck. I'm not sure Perrin knows quite how to come to terms with Rand or Mat being gone. Or Nynaeve, may the Light shelter them all. The crew is giving them space." He gingerly sat down next to her on the cot. "And…Moiraine, I can't even begin to imagine what it was like losing Lan."

Hollowness. The lance of pain. The fog over her mind wavered, threatening to let all the pent-up emotions come spilling through, yet she held on. She gripped her dress, closing her eyes at the stress of maintaining the fog. Her calm must be preserved until she met with the Amyrlin. She must deliver her report. Then, once the Tower was aware of her failure, maybe then she could grieve.

A hand rested lightly on top of her own, breaking her concentration. Moiraine's eyes blinked open, focusing on the weathered fingers enveloping her own. They were so much larger than her own. Truly that should not bother her anymore, not in the face of the night's losses, but she still felt a tickle of irritation as she noted that she was again the more diminutive. His hands seemed able to fold themselves over in their expanse. Lan's used to do the same thing. Once more emotions pushed toward her, threatening to embrace her as _saidar_ would; but as with the True Source, it stayed just past her reach. She took in a calming breath, not for a moment trusting words to function.

The gleeman gave a quiet harrumph, moustache fidgeting once more. He made as if to speak, mouth opening slightly, before giving her hand the slightest squeeze. "I have had my disagreements with the White Tower," he gave carefully, "but I know you did everything you could to protect them. Never before have I seen an Aes Sedai work so valiantly, against so many. If the Dark claimed those younglings, it was not from lack of effort on your behalf. You can be at peace with that."

Perhaps it was his choice of words, perhaps it was the unexpected sympathy in his voice. Perhaps it was the simple fact that Thom was there, for her. She made a concerted effort to rein herself in, cutting off a sob she hadn't realized had left her mouth, and the fool man reached around her arms to comfort her! With no other options and days of travel yet to go – easily a month in the best of situations, and she doubted hers would be the best of situations – she let go of the fog that had protected her. Moiraine wept, harder and for more reason than any she knew had before her. Thom remained silent, providing wordless comfort and occasionally rubbing her shoulder gently. She should have rebuffed his shows, but by the Light there was just so much to bear! She wept silently, leaning into his arms as the world seemed to shift its weight to her shoulders. Lan had always likened duty to a mountain; now she felt that weight, regardless of what Thom and Rand al'Thor had said.

"I don't know what to do," she admitted in a hushed whisper, the very words sending shivers through her as she spoke. "The Dragon Reborn is dead, and there is nothing to guard us from the Shadow's will."

Thom gave a shudder of his own, becoming somehow yet quieter. She mourned again, for the loss of the world. Nothing more needed to be said, for nothing more could be said. The Dragon Reborn was dead. The Shadow had won.

•

And the Shadow fell upon the Land, and the World was riven stone from stone. The oceans fled, and the mountains were swallowed up, and the nations were scattered to the eight corners of the World. The moon was as blood, and the sun was as ashes. The seas boiled, and the living envied the dead. All was shattered, and all but memory lost, and one memory above all others, of him who brought the Shadow and the Breaking of the World. And him they named Dragon.

(from _Aleth nin Taerin alta Camora_ ,  
 _The Breaking of the World._  
Author unknown, the Fourth Age)

And it came to pass in those days, as it had come before and would come again, that the Dark lay heavy on the land and weighed down the hearts of men, and the green things failed, and hope died. And men cried out to the Creator, saying, O Light of the Heavens, Light of the World, let the Promised One be born of the mountain, according to the prophecies, as he was in ages past and will be in ages to come. Let the Prince of the Morning sing to the land that green things will grow and the valleys give forth lambs. Let the arm of the Lord of the Dawn shelter us from the Dark, and the great sword of justice defend us. Let the Dragon ride again on the winds of time.

(from _Charal Drianaan te Calamon_ ,  
 _The Cycle of the Dragon._  
Author unknown, the Fourth Age)


	2. Chapter 1: Recovery

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose above the ruins of Shadar Logoth. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the Wheel of Time. But it was _a_ beginning.

North and east the wind blew, over the farmlands and wooded forests of the Andoran countryside. The nearby Manetherendrelle lay low, its waters leaking into several schisms in the land and trickling down its normal path where it should have been gushing. The farmers kept as far away from these cracks as they could, called landscars by some, but there was only so much they could pull from the wells when whole fields of crops cried out in thirst. Not a soul knew what to make of the strange happenings now some weeks past, when the night was riven by a tremendous heaving of the earth and a column of energy darken than an Aielman's veil reached for the clouds above, but they all agreed that it was a sign boding ill for those who walked under the Light.

North and east the wind blew, carrying with it an unnatural chill for the season that spoke more of a coming winter than of the nascent spring. What budding sprouts there were found themselves outnumbered by shoots that had withered away or been destroyed by unexpected bouts of disease, or simply never grew in the first place. The farmers spat by roadsides and complained to their neighbors, yet secretly they counted their diminishing stocks when they had a free moment from chasing off vermin or keeping their livestock from the hungering maws of forest predators. Their wives added more and more water to their meals, stretching their food as much as they dared, with wan smiles for the children and flashes of terror to their husbands. Many a prayer was said, as if the landscars had let the Shadow itself free into the world. Some devolved into solitude, claiming the world itself was proof of the fact.

The wilds themselves had grown even more dangerous, bearing fruit to strange and sickly vegetation that seemed to strangle the life out of the rest of the forests in which they grew. Quiet glades of vibrant flora became dank fens full of twisted plants that seemed to spread a miasma in the very air around them. Wildlife vanished slowly, leaving an unnatural quiet in its wake that left those few travelers unlucky enough to cross through it eager to reach the other side. They had no fear of banditry, for even the cutpurses and blackguards had taken to avoiding the woods that were their only home. It was a topic oft joked about in taverns, that a few brown leaves had scared off the goons of the byways, yet even the heartiest ale could make a man stalwart enough of heart that he did not find himself wondering if there was something more sinister to the changes than just a harsh winter.

North and east the wind blew, breaking free of the wilderness and darting toward the city of Tar Valon. The city had remained prosperous in spite of the new hardships, protected as it was from the dual guardians of river trade and the White Tower's coffers. Even so, the lowliest crier and the most esteemed of the guard had all heard over a dozen reasons why the earth had convulsed a month past and a chasm had appeared between the outer walls and the imposing figure of Dragonmount, and none of them were of a sort to put a merry jig in one's step. At different times and in their own ways the Tar Valoners thought of the Aes Sedai that protected them, that gave them answers when the world heaved, that stayed more silent in the past month than their normal austerity should have allowed. They tried to convince themselves that the Aes Sedai would notify them if there was aught they truly needed to know about, that they alone in the world were of import enough to hear first what the architects of nations had heard of the world beyond, yet paradoxically they found themselves praying for the Light to deliver them through these trying times and allow for peace to return.

Through a lone window high above the city, the wind whipped around an ageless face staring at the metropolis below. Auburn hair pulled up into a bun, she resisted the urge to shiver as the gust moved past her and into her study. The striped stole of her office hung loosely from her shoulders, yet today the weaving could have been as great iron chains for the news being relayed to her. "Fish guts," she muttered under her breath, half to herself.

In front of her desk farther inside the study, the wizened Thom Merrilin bowed his head. He breathed a heavy sigh through his mouth that fluttered the ends of his too-long moustache, expressing the irritation that she refused to acknowledge in herself. "She still blames herself for the entire turn of events, Mother. Seems to think that she was responsible for the blows the Trollocs struck that night." He paused before allowing himself a sardonic laugh. "As if we hadn't problems enough with the Shadowspawn that night. Not that I would ever dare question the ways of the Aes Sedai, Mother, for I am but a lowly gleeman who knows not your astute ways. It just appears to me that Moiraine Sedai, lacking a focus, has chosen to focus on her own shortcomings instead."

The woman known as Siuan Sanche repressed the urge to scoff. A man would be one to belittle a woman's loss at her entire life's work! If Tamra Ospenya wasn't restless in her grave from the way she and Moiraine had botched their task, she would eat pickled jellyfish for a week. The Aes Sedai known as the Amyrlin Seat knew that if she looked at the events dispassionately, Thom had the right of it. Moiraine was taking this matter far too personally, for all the danger that the world was now in. She needed to find her focus once again, and burn her for having a man seeing clearer than her!

Aloud, Siuan replied in serene tones. "I thank you for continuing to watch after Moiraine Sedai, Master Merrilin. The news she brought was troubling, to say the least. I would ask that that you continue to monitor her situation, if you would be so kind. Our sisters have many duties to perform, and they may not be as readily available to assist should a situation arise." Thom looked as if he was on the verge of protesting, even going so far as to furrow his brows slightly and open his mouth, but she was saved the trouble of a formal reprimand by a timely knock on the door. "I trust that you will notify me in any event. Until we meet again." With that, she lowered herself to her desk, turning to the many missives and documents clamoring for her attention. She heard Thom take a step towards her, which brought the ghost of a smile to her face. The man was certainly persistent. Abruptly he seemed to realize what he was doing, for he turned and walked graciously toward the door. Siuan gave a slow mental count to twenty before signing a parchment in front of her and turning to acknowledge her latest arrival.

If Leane had heard anything of the conversation preceding her arrival, she made no indication. Instead, her Keeper merely waited for acknowledgement before moving forward with her own stack of papers, her natural Domani grace shining in even that simple action. Siuan wondered for a moment how many men would be charmed by her movements until learning she was Aes Sedai. Or how many would not care even then.

"Reports are coming back from the Blue network," the coppery-skinned woman said simply. "At least two dozen other fissures have been noted, with the widest around the ruins of Shadar Logoth. No one knows how deep they run, as no one has been willing to try and discover it."

Siuan nodded absentmindedly, leafing through the reports on her own. It certainly looked to be a change done by a greater power than had been seen before. Not even the false Dragon Logain had caused this much damage in his time spent free, which certainly spoke to a power magnitudes above what a man who could channel could accomplish. She repressed another urge, this time to shudder in fear and comprehension. Of a sudden she noticed that Leane had stopped talking, and was staring at her uncomfortably. Siuan let the woman stew for a few moments before addressing her, papers still in hand. "Out with it, Leane. There should be no secrets between an Amyrlin and her Keeper."

Leane blinked twice before smoothing her dress. Odd. For her, that was a gasp aloud. "Well," she started, "I've been going over what Moiraine said when she returned. Fists of Trollocs in numbers so great they can only be compared to the Trolloc Wars? Being hounded by Draghkar and Myrddraal? Even along the Blight, the largest raids don't reach those sizes."

So many directions the conversation could go. Siuan took in a slow breath, steepling her fingers in front of her as she looked up at her Keeper. "What is your analysis of this event?" There. Open-ended enough to keep her from being led to any single conclusion on her own, the Light willing.

Leane maintained a poise fit for grace itself, pursing her lips slightly before folding her hands in front of her. "Ordinarily, the movement of so many Shadowspawn would be impossible past the Borderlands. There is simply no conventional way that they would move a veritable army from the Blight past every single outpost and into the world beyond. That they reached the heart of Andor itself should be impossible. This speaks to some other force at work than Trollocs and Myrddraal." She took a breath, looking to Siuan for comment; when none was given, she carried on unsteadily. "With no record of any Fists pushing southward, that suggests channeling of some kind. New channelers working for the Dark One would not bode well for us, or for the world."

Siuan gave a small nod, returning to her papers. Those were logical assumptions, given the evidence as it was. Light send that that was all she drew from the night at Shadar Logoth.

"And then there's the matter of the landscars. Since they appeared on the same night that Moiraine escaped from the Trollocs, they cannot be dismissed as unconnected."

The pit in her stomach seemed to sink lower. This was a fine stinking barrel of fish guts to be stuck in, to be sure.

Leane carried on without noticing her reaction, even if her voice trembled almost imperceptibly. "No one seems to know what they are, but all sources that I've heard from agree that they only appeared the night that dark energy was released. I have seen some sisters work impressive feats with Earth, but this goes beyond the wildest dream of any ambition I've heard of. I don't know that a full circle would be able to accomplish one of those fissures, much less the two dozen we know of." She squeezed her hands together, and when she finished the quiver in her voice was unmistakably there. "I fear that we face direct action by the Dark One himself."

Silence fell over the Amyrlin's Study. Siuan could feel her heart threatening to pound right out of her chest. Oh yes, a fine barrel of fish guts mixed in with fresh chum, and surrounded by bloody ravenous silverpike to boot! If Leane was able to piece that together from reading reports, how many more sisters had come to the same conclusion? How many more Ajahs had networks that knew of the mass Trolloc incursion?

She raised her eyes to the woman in front of her. Leane had proven more than trustworthy in the past, and of all the sisters in the Tower Siuan had little concern that she held multiple allegiances. Even so, she hesitated before embracing the Source, setting a weave against eavesdroppers. Confident that it was set, she set another identical ward underneath that. With information the likes of which she was about to discuss, there was no such thing as being too safe. Siuan motioned to the wicker seat in front of her desk, which Leane slid into uneasily. The Light send she wasn't about to make a grave mistake.

"What you are about to hear is Sealed to the Flame," she gave slowly and with all the gravity the phrase implied. "Furthermore, before I continue I would have you swear that not so much as a suggestion of what will be spoken of here will leave this room."

Leane paled slightly but nodded. "Under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow that no one shall know what we speak of today by my words or deeds."

Siuan suppressed the notion that she was jeopardizing the world by what she was doing and told Leane everything. Gitara's Foretelling, her predecessor's orders, the mysterious deaths that followed. Everything leading up to the true reason behind Moiraine's absence from the White Tower and her flight through Shadar Logoth. She sidestepped around the issue of the Black Ajah, though; there was only so much a woman could take at once. When she had finished, Leane was paler than a sun-bleached whale bone. "By the Light," she breathed, "the Dragon Reborn is taken by the Shadow."

Siuan nodded, pushing through the gloom that threatened to settle on her from those words. "I fear that it is so, daughter. But we must now focus on what can be done."

The fear on Leane's face was clear as day, yet to her credit she did not balk. "What can be done? What hope is there when the Dragon Reborn himself has been struck down?"

The question that could not be answered, the question that had to be answered. Siuan herself had been pondering the question since Moiraine had entered her study with the news, despondent and hollow. What could be done when the world was doomed, and you stood on the cliff's edge staring into the whirlpool? She inhaled slowly, sitting just a hair straighter and fulfilling the seat of office that was her duty. When had the stole become so heavy? "There must always be hope, or the Shadow has already won. For now, we assume that the Shadow will try and push outward from Shayol Ghul. Have our agents spread word that there has been a massing of Trollocs within the Blight, and that arms will be needed to reinforce Tarwin's Gap and the northern border."

Leane nodded slowly, fear mingling with hope on her face. "What of the other Ajahs? If we begin spreading rumor that the Trollocs are moving, the Hall will demand an explanation."

Siuan spread her hands briefly. "With the blow the Dark One struck, I would say that sufficient evidence exists to suggest an offensive won't be long in the making. I would be surprised if Tarmon Gai'don was long in coming."

As if the words had brought the day itself a chill seeped through the space. Siuan had thought the truth would be easier to say aloud, yet even the thought of the Last Battle had her shivering. Leane was similarly affected, closing her eyes as she composed herself. Neither of them wanted to break the silence. After a time Leane rose from her chair, making toward the entrance. "I will send word to our agents," she said quietly. "The Light be with you, Mother." With that, she stepped past the boundaries of the ward, gliding out the door.

Time seemed to stretch like a dragnet. Siuan remained in her seat for some time, staring at the organized clutter of papers, seeing nothing as her eyes moved around the desk. After a time she dispersed the weaves, moving her hands through the motions of signing papers until she began paying attention to what was beneath her. There was too much work to be done for her to sit around addlebrained.

•

The Yellow Ajah's quarters, while not boasting the most numerous in members or the most spacious of quarters, was still regarded by many who visited as inviting, tranquil, even comforting. The warm earthen color palette and relatively simple designs complimented the sisters calling it home, who were generally of a temperament that in other women might be called "sympathetic." Even the air moving through the hallways was more soothing than the rest of the White Tower, for the Yellow sisters retained a small but formidable hothouse of herbs for use in various medicines, and there was the barest hint of a verdant touch in every breath take.

And yet, for all the best Healing and medicines the Yellows could provide, Moiraine still had nightmares.

To call her dreams nightmares would be to call the Aryth Ocean a pond, or to call winter in the Borderlands unpleasantly cool. Far too often to recount her dreams had turned from whatever her unconscious thought had made, to the night at Shadar Logoth. The Trollocs swarmed from every broken building, covering the street and overrunning her. Rand al'Thor fought and died, over and over and over again, begging for her help as five Myrddraal turned their blackened blades on him. The great abyss sucked down the land, leading to a darkness with no end. Sometimes she was lost within the maze of ruins, no matter how she followed the red star on the horizon, and she would run on in terror only to find dead ends filled with hordes of Trollocs. Sometimes she made it out, only to discover that Nynaeve's mangled body was waiting for her, surrounding her, accusing her. She was always alone in the dreams, without her Warder by her side and clutching her staff for lack of better protection. The night always played out differently, the specters waiting for her changed every time she closed her eyes, but the ending never varied. A cruel laugh would surround her, a laugh without source, and the sudden sensation of a white-hot knife slicing through a part of her as vital as any of her limbs.

It was always after that memory of the severing, the never-ending reminder of the man that had been a part of her, the man whose name she could not even bear to think, that she awoke in a panic. She could never hold the Source when that happened, but pillows and blankets often found themselves suffering her vice grip as stand-ins. Then the gray would settle over her, removing the fear and the pain, and she could eventually look upon even the disjointed memories of her dreams without pain. The waking days past those nightly trials were inconsequential, filled with colors and medicines and people. The people brought words and more people, but that was to be expected.

Sitting upright in the bed given to her upon returning to Tar Valon, Moiraine registered these facts as she would register the contents of her saddlebag: they were elements that made up the whole, and that was that. They were as much plain statements as were the small bed in her room, the one chair, the tiny slit of a window overlooking somewhere in Tar Valon. Neither these facts nor the constant yammering presence of any of the Yellows elicited any response from her. Once, she may have gone so far as to have called them irritating; now, they simply were, just as the torn piece of cloak with its ever-shifting colors simply was. All the people that visited her in her room were simply placeholders now, instead of being sources of comfort or irritation. Even Sedore Dajenna, — bustling hither and yon, babbling about studying the effects of a broken Warder bond firsthand and Delving her whenever she was in the same league, never mind what time of day it was — even she was just another part of the day. There were constants in the gray that enveloped her now. Her entire experience boiled down to those things outside the gray: some sister or other checking on her well-being, murmuring pleasantries at her; unbroken hours staring at nothing, feeling nothing, not even when she tentatively reached out to _saidar_ and felt its embrace surrounding her. Nothings and murmurs and the gray, and Egwene and Thom. Seeing those two had a peculiar effect on her, as if she knew she should be upset but felt the loss through someone else. With Thom it was worse, seeing the agony on his face and knowing it was for her. He was trying so very hard to be comforting for her, trying not to replace Him.

Moiraine blinked, confused. She had been in bed. When had she moved to the chair in her room? And why was the scrap of cloth in her hands? And why in the Light did her throat hurt so much?

"Moiraine? Are you quite well?"

She blinked again, looking toward the unexpected noise. A Yellow sister, her face an unknown, was staring at her in concern. Bright green eyes framed in subtly angular features, a dark complexion accented by the yellow tones of her dress. Another face in the gray. She focused on the woman as she stood on the threshold. "You gave a sudden wail, and then you were crying for almost a bell. Is there something I can do for you, to ease your pain?"

Moiraine stifled a flash of indignation. She had not been crying, and especially not where someone might see her! Her mouth opened to deliver a cool rebuke, and found that her voice had abandoned her. The terror of that loss suddenly filled her, and she rushed to seize the One Power in fear of it being taken from her again. It enveloped her, comforting her and allaying part of her worries. She raised her clenched hand to her chest, allowing _saidar_ to wash over her and the cloud of apathy to settle over her once more. She was safe within it, safer than the protection her shawl gave, safer even than with _saidar_ and her confiscated _sa'angreal_. Moiraine cleared her throat and tried again, but with no more success.

The Yellow sister bowed her head respectfully. "I'll see if I can get something for your throat," she continued soothingly. "It's no wonder that you lost your voice, as long as you were mourning for." With that, the Yellow passed into the quarters beyond and quietly shut the door behind her.

She was alone. Moiraine always felt the full weight of her failure then, the weight of redemption denied to the masses. The world needed the Dragon Reborn, and the Dragon Reborn had needed her. So much responsibility heaped onto her shoulders, and she had let it fall like a gleeman's juggling act. The adage with which she was so familiar was not nearly broad enough; duty wasn't just a mountain, it was an entire range of mountains. It was the bulk of nations, heaped onto one woman's shoulders in a precarious balance. The nattering Yellows might try to placate her and assure her that they knew what she was going through, but even without considering what she had lost they could never fathom the crushing weight dragging her under now. Were it not that their words helped keep the memories at bay, she would forego the presence of others altogether.

Hours passed — or perhaps only minutes, it was difficult to tell — and a cup of half-finished tea sat beside her on the windowsill. Confused, she reached toward it. The porcelain was cool to the touch, the drink long since past tepid. She knew she should finish the tea and not be wasteful, that it was expected from courtesy to do so. She even reached for the handle, preparing a thin thread of Fire to warm the tea that was left; but even as her hand touched the cup she let the weave dissipate. There was no point to it.

Taking the cup in hand Moiraine brought it to her lap, staring into the murky liquid. She did not look haggard, per se, but recent days were certainly taking a toll on her. Her hair just a touch out of place, the barest hint of bags under her eyes. Even her eyes themselves had a dull sheen to them. Or perhaps that was just the tea leaves in the water.

A voice spoke behind her, one she thought was familiar. She tried to focus on it, but the gray had settled in, muffling whatever words were directed at her. Moiraine allowed herself a mirthless laugh. This state of mind was turning into a very effective ward, albeit one with no practical use for any but her. Even as she laughed, she tried once more to listen to the other voice. Male, by the timbre of it, and one with a lyrical lilt to it. She blinked in confusion as her apathy dissipated. Was that…Thom?

She forced herself to turn, hoping to catch him, but by the time her body responded there was no one else in her room. The emptiness in front of her door left her feeling bleaker than she had before, and she moved back to her window. It had become evening sometime during the day, but evening was of as little import as the morning. Raising the cup to her lips she downed the last of her tea in one gulp, wincing only slightly at the bitter taste it had accrued. Let it serve as another marker of her life's turn. With nothing else to do and not wanting to suffer the Delving of any more Yellows she climbed into her bed, pulling the blankets close to her. She may as well sleep. After all, terrifying as her dreams always were, there was no new pain in them.

•

The Flame's Hearth boasted an impressive number of merchants, peddlers, artisans and dockhands as its patrons. It never seemed to slow down, no matter what time of day it was, and the innkeeper seemed to keep strict control over food, cleanliness and bright atmosphere, all of which was of excellent quality. To Perrin it was, at least; some of the regulars joked about the darker corners where the fire's light could not quite reach, but they always seemed well-lit to his eyes.

He had no idea how in the Light Thom had managed to secure a room for him, but every time he asked about it the innkeeper just shook his head and ordered another plate of food be brought to him. He had even looked offended when Perrin had offered to pay for his food! That had confused him more than most of the events since they had reached Tar Valon, but he didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings.

There were still nights when he dreamed about being chased by Trollocs and Halfmen, but they were becoming fewer and farther between now. Mostly his dreams of late were stranger, half-wild things that stayed just past his recollection. He was fine with that; best he didn't know what his mind did to him at night, after what he had seen at Shadar Logoth. He missed Rand and Mat; he even missed Nynaeve, in spite of his mixed feelings for her when she had been alive. No matter how strict she had been, she had only tried doing what was best for the Emond's Fielders. People trying to do good didn't deserve to die, especially to Trollocs.

He had spent the evening tucked away at a table on the far side of the common room, watching the performers of the evening entertain the Hearth's customers. The two of them, who shared the same blunt nose and dark scruffy hair, had pulled out a mandolin from their bag of tricks; and while neither of them were as gifted as Thom on his harp, they still set about playing a merry jig that soon had the whole room clapping in time and sent serving girls skipping away on light feet. Even Perrin found himself nodding in time, though he hadn't meant to become so drawn in by their performance. Still, it was a good way to pass the time while he waited.

The pair finished the tune to roaring applause and launched straight into what sounded like a grand tale of some sort. While the rest of the room focused on their story, Perrin took the opportunity to finish his meal, stripping his chicken leg of its meat. The spiced mead, while watered down for him, was still strong enough to fight off the last chilly hours of the early spring nights.

It was another three songs and a rounds of drinks before his companion joined him. Even though he had left his patched cloak behind him, Perrin suspected the bushy moustache would tell him where Thom was even in the thickest of crowds. The gleeman took the chair across from him, waving his hand angrily at the performers. "Amateurs," he growled, yanking a chair closer to him as he sank into it. "Half-trained witless cows, the pair of them. I wouldn't be surprised if their mother didn't kick them out of their home, caterwauling like they are."

Perrin thought about commenting, but changed his mind with a mental shrug. Just because he thought the men were good hands at music didn't mean they actually were, especially when comparing his own knowledge to Thom's experience and ear. He took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Is there any good news on Moiraine Sedai?"

Thom's eyes sank to the table, and even his moustache seemed to droop. "No there isn't, boy, and burn me if I had anything else to say. It was a hard thing, to see what she has and still retain her mind. I wouldn't wish such a fate on anyone." Perrin's face must have looked glum, because the older man reached across the table to pat his hand consolingly. "Cheer up, lad. Aes Sedai are made of sterner stuff than the likes of most, and Moiraine even more so. She'll pull through."

Perrin nodded once, taking a look around the common room. The patrons were all caught up in the swing of the new song, singing along each time the refrain came around. He didn't understand how they could be celebrating, with the state of the world as it was. Hadn't they seen the same beacon they had on the Spray that night? Could they not see the landscar that stopped just short of the city itself? He shook his head. "I don't know what to do, Thom," he found himself saying quietly. "I don't think I can stay here much longer. There's nothing for me to do but sit and think, and I don't know how much more of that I can take. Not with everything that's happened."

Thom gave him a level stare. "You've always struck me as a levelheaded one, Perrin," the gleeman said slowly. "Humor me and let's talk this through."

Relief flooded through Perrin. He had been certain that Thom would fight tooth and nail to keep him in Tar Valon. He had even tried thinking of excuses he could give to ease into the conversation, but he would never be near the wordsmith that Mat had been. "I need something to do. I'm useless sitting here, when I could be working somewhere and make a difference. I can't go back to the Two Rivers, not after what we've seen and especially not—" The memory of losing the Emond's Fielders made him pause, and he had to take a breath before continuing. "If I go back, they'll always have questions. I don't know that I could take a lifetime of that."

Silence held sway over their table, a silence at stark contrast with the raucous applause that broke out around them. After what seemed an eternity, Thom nodded. "Alright, boy. I can't say that I'm happy to hear it, but it's not altogether unexpected either. If you feel you need to leave, then you need to do what you feel is best." He traced the whorls in the woodgrain in front of him before clearing his throat, rapping his fist lightly on the table. "Have you given thought as to where you would go?"

Perrin shifted in his seat, swirling his mug in one hand. "I don't know," he admitted. "I suppose the only other place I thought of going was Caemlyn, but I never really thought about how I'd get there or who I'd talk to. I just thought they would have enough blacksmiths that I wouldn't hurt for work."

The gleeman shook his head. "I don't think that's wise, boy. Caemlyn's seen its fair share of master and apprentice blacksmiths, and the Aiel Wars only flooded the number of them in the city. Even now, twenty years later, there are still more practitioners than there are renowned establishments, and no reliable way of sorting through the chaff to find the good workers." He knuckled his moustache, a pensive look on his face. "Though it does make me wonder where else you might be able to go. Tell me, would you have any problem with working on ship parts, do you think?"

What topics the following hour held made Perrin's head spin. He had no idea there were as many nations as Thom insisted there were. Most of them seemed as fanciful to him as anything from the gleeman's other tales, full of so many cultures and customs that Perrin struggled to keep them straight in his head. And the variety in metalwork! Perrin felt confident enough that he could make farming tools that would outlast most others, and even some basic tools past those, but he had no idea where to begin on instruments of war. Even leaving out the many swords and axes and spearhead designs, or the armor that would protect from them, Thom still quizzed him on how he felt making ship bolsters, ornamental racks, cookware, window frames, braziers – even fences made of twisted iron, of all things! They talked long enough that the Flame's Hearth slowly emptied of people, and by the time they had finished talking about a good dozen nations only the servers remained, collecting dishes and scraps.

It was enough talk to leave Perrin exhausted, but Thom seemed to have filled with determination. "From what you've given me," he concluded over his fourth mug of ale, "most of the central nations are too crowded for you to stand out, and most of the coastal nations require knowledge you don't yet have." He took a slow draft to wet his throat, waiting for Perrin to do the same. "What would you say to work in the Borderlands?"

Perrin studied the tabletop in front of him, trying to recall what little he knew of the northern countries. "I don't know that they'd have me," he said. "All I am is a blacksmith, and I don't know anything about battles. We fought Trollocs on the way here, but there's a difference between fleeing for your life and fighting on the front lines. It's not something that appeals to me, not immediately." He fell silent, reaching for the blacksmith's puzzle in his pocket. "I…need to think about this some more. You've given me a lot to think on."

Thom nodded. "I believe I have at that." He rose from his seat, throwing his cloak over his shoulders. "Would you at least be willing to talk things over, if I found someone within Tar Valon?"

Perrin should have said no. He felt like this was just another form of manipulation, like what Moiraine had done to him and the rest of the Emond's Fielders that had ended with most of them dead. Instead he found himself nodding. "It's not like I have much else to do here, after all."

Thom adjusted his cloak, looking uncomfortable for a brief spell. "Well, there's a place for you somewhere, lad. We just have to find it." He lingered for another beat and was gone, out into the night. Perrin stared at the doorway until he noticed the puzzle in his hand. He blinked. He thought it had been in his pocket, tucked away. Shrugging, he made to put it away before his fingers brushed against an imperfection in the smooth metal surface. He knew exactly what it was: a triad of lines, cut into the side of one piece when he had asked Master Luhhan why he didn't have a tradesign. Master Luhhan had laughed, etching the symbol into the freshly-finished puzzle and handing it to him as what he referred to as "a masterpiece for a bright mind to figure out." Perrin could remember arguing with Rand on whether or not the lines actually resembled Master Luhhan's initials or not for days after he received the puzzle.

The unwanted memory of home brought with it still more memories, of happier times, of simpler troubles. Perrin remembered the day that a young Mat had marched right up to Cenn Buie and told him that no one liked to hear him complain. Master Buie had dragged Mat right up to poor Doral Barran's doorstep by the cuff of his shirt and demanded the Wisdom birch him then and there. He remembered the three-day stretch that he and Rand had tried living in the woods around Edmond's Field, how Rand had convinced him that he could find any type of food in the forest, and how hungry they had both been by the time the search party found them. He remembered the day that Mat was given his first longbow, strung with a weight meant for an adult rather than a child, and how he had been so excited that he fired off an arrow without grabbing an arm guard first. It had taken four days for the red marks to fade, yet he had walked around the village with the biggest grin on because of it.

Perrin chuckled at the thought, bringing one of his large hands up to knuckle against his cheek as he laughed. They came back moist with tears. As if the realization shifted other facts into focus he realized his vision was blurred. When had he started crying? He tried to scrub the tears away with the palm of his hand, but more kept falling. Why, of all the things to think about, had he thought about home?

One of the serving girls flipped her dark curled hair at him, suddenly noting his state with a little jump. She quickly put her basket full of dirtied plates and silverware down on a table, and rushed over to his side. Her amber eyes filled with worry. "Hey now, lovey," she cooed soothingly at him, "what's the matter?"

Perrin shook his head. He had seen her working around the Flame's Hearth – Alsin, was that her name? – and she had always seemed to know more about him than she let on. She always seemed to bring him plates with just a little more food, mugs with just a little more ale. He shook his head, giving a cough he hoped would clear his throat. "Nothing. I'm fine, Alsin."

Alsin placed her hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. "Perrin, you've gone through some terrible ordeal. I don't know what it is, but I know the look of a man who has seen more than any sane person should." Without looking away from him she pulled over a nearby chair, settling in next to him. "I won't ask what it was, but I know sure as rain is wet that you need to let things out."

His mouth worked, but no words came out. Why did he always get stuck in these situations? "I'm fine," he mumbled. "I just…" Why was it so hard to talk? If only he had asked Rand or Mat how to talk to girls; they had always known what to do. He couldn't even talk to Egwene now, even when he made the long walk to the White Tower. Rand or Mat would've known what to do.

Something gave inside of him, some small resistance that he had been building up over the last month. He missed his home; he missed feeling safe. He missed his two best friends more than he ever let on with Thom. Try as he might with Egwene, she just hadn't been friends with him in the same way. He gave one last attempt to overcome the moment before the feeling of loss washed over him again, even stronger than before. To his shame, he broke down in the middle of the common room.

Alsin never missed a beat; she simply pulled Perrin closer to her, stroking his hair and talking softly to him as he grieved. "There, lovey, that's all to the good. You can't keep holding it in like that, I told you. No need to go pushing yourself more than you need. I kept thinking that someday soon you'd be having a go at this, I'm just glad it was one I worked the floor here. Come on, lovey, don't be hard on yourself. Just let it all out."

He should have apologized. He should have stopped right there and gone to his room, forcing himself to sleep and endure the dreams that haunted him. Instead he sat there, held in Alsin's arms, missing Emond's Field and Master Luhhan and his friends. He missed Mat and Rand so much. The pain was so heavy he wanted to howl in agony, just to let some of it out. He cried, and Alsin held him; that was all the world had reduced to. It was all he could bear at that point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome to my crazy little thought project born of a well-built universe and far too little sleep! Posting as I can once I've had edits and form coherent sentences, and I don't have to go back to work. Happy reading! More to come!


	3. Chapter 2: Strange Dreams

Egwene stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, the chatter around her muddling into a monotonous drone and tempting her to fall asleep. She had been exhausted many times over the past month of being a novice, but rarely had her sleep been so ill as it had in the past few nights, nor her dreams so restless that she woke feeling more drained than when she retired for the evening. It didn't help that she was stuck waiting for a lesson that wouldn't begin, on a topic with which she was already quite familiar.

When she had managed to pry Sedore Sedai away from Moiraine long enough to explain that she couldn't get restful sleep, the Yellow sister had suggested that she try learning to embrace the One Power as a method of calming herself. Tranquility was the very nature of what one needed to use the Source, she had said, and with the agreement that she practice embracing the Source only under supervision the Yellows had held sessions with her in between her lessons and visits to Moiraine. She was now able to touch _saidar_ almost every single time she tried, and if her dreams had yet to go away at least they were simply strange instead of the nightmares she had when she first arrived at the White Tower.

She was sitting with a classroom full of other novices, most of whom were chatting quietly with a barely-contained excitement belying the calm they sought to emulate. Egwene thought it funny how they played at being Aes Sedai, posing in their white dresses like they were fine silks and addressing each other with just a touch of haughtiness to their voices. She didn't join them. There would be time enough to practice mannerisms once she became Accepted. If she could just make it to being Accepted.

Already the room had organized into various cliques, though the defining characteristics of the groups were lost to her. Some girls tried to loudly outdo one another, some launches into debate; others just sat in silence or conferred in excited whispers. They were of many builds and nationalities, though Egwene hadn't the first inkling where some of the novices with more exotic accents called home. Only a few of the other novices looked as if they could hold their own to a good day's work, so bookish and chubby were the lot of them. Egwene blinked slowly, her eyes furrowing. No, not chubby; she mustn't be churlish, even in her thoughts and no matter how tired she was. More academically minded, that was better. Perhaps they were simply not used to manual labor. Taking the effort to focus on her two nearest neighbors, she gave a halfhearted chuckle at the thought. "Not used to manual labor" seemed such an understatement.

The girl go her immediate left was a doe-eyed brunette with a too-perfectly formed face, always bobbing her head and going along with whatever was being discussed in that small circle. If she had had the energy, Egwene would have laughed. She minded her of a porcelain doll she had seen once, when she had visited Taren Ferry in her youth: a pretty toy, displayed on a shelf, and that was that. There was nothing of interest to her in a beautiful face. She was more drawn to the novice on her right; for while she, too, seemed more inclined to lead than labor, the impression given Egwene was that she had led all her life with a grace as natural to her as breathing. She seemed to be doing more listening than speaking and, when she spoke, tended toward oblique answers rather than the proud statements of the other novices. Even the dress of her hair invoked imagery of leadership, for her golden-red curls framed her features in a natural diadem of sorts; and she wore the novice whites in such a regal manner that Egwene couldn't help but wonder how commanding she would look in something other than bleached wool.

She must have been staring, for soon after the girl turned toward her, face overshadowed by worry. "You look positively drained," she murmured in a voice Egwene could barely hear. "Are you certain you should be here? Don't you want to lie down?"

How she wished she could agree. Her desire for sleep was already stronger than hunger pangs on some days, and it would be wonderful to lie down, even for a moment. Egwene shook her head, taking in a deep breath. "What I want is to become Aes Sedai. I can't let a silly thing like sleep get in the way of that."

Her classmate gave a reassuring smile. "In that case, you'll need someone to support you. I'm Elayne."

Egwene tried to give a smile of her own in return, but she had to stifle yet another yawn to keep it from escaping, this time with both her hands. Blinking, she managed a grin. "Egwene. I'm sorry for all the yawning, but I haven't had the best night's sleep for a while now."

Elayne nodded grimly. "I know the feeling. I feel like I studied more in the past two weeks then my whole life leading up to now." She paused, a conspiratorial glint in her eye. "Though I rather think that's the same for all of us. None of us know what to expect, so every change they throw at us catches us off guard. But then, I suppose that's part of the point of novice training: to make sure we know that we _don't_ know everything. Does that make sense?"

Egwene nodded hesitantly. "I believe so," she gave slowly and with much more conviction than she felt. Perhaps she was simply making the matter too complicated in her mind, but she couldn't quite follow the points Elayne brought up.

Her classmate laughed. "Don't worry. Everyone else seems to have much the same answer whenever I say that." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Anyway, you look like you need someone that has your back. What do you say to having me?"

She must have lost more sleep than she thought, for nothing Elayne said made any sense to her. She shook her head, her brow furrowed. "As in sticking up for me? I'm sorry, but why? I'm just another novice."

Elayne stared at her as if she had just grown another head, or donned an Aiel veil. "You're not just another novice, Egwene. The other girls still talk about—" She cast her eyes around the room, making sure the others were still talking. "They still talk about that night," she murmured with a watchful glance toward some of the other novices, "and something you must have incredible skill with the One Power to have survived. They hear the Aes Sedai talk about how powerful you're going to be, and they come away thinking you might teach them all sorts of weaves the Aes Sedai would never dream of us learning. I don't care one bit about how much you may or may not know, but even though everyone says you have promise you keep pushing yourself to your limits. Call me selfish, but I want to know where you're driving yourself." She shrugged. "Besides, people tend to go farther when they have someone backing them up."

The explanation filled Egwene's head with so many confused attempts to try and reason out her motives that she actually felt a dull throbbing in her temples. Still, she was surprised at how genuine Elayne sounded. "That sounds wonderful, but honestly I'll settle for getting through this class without falling asleep."

Elayne nodded emphatically. "I can help with that. I'll just pinch your finger if I see you start falling asleep."

Egwene meant to acquiesce, but at that moment the door to the classroom opened abruptly. All conversation stopped as the form of one of the Accepted shifted slightly into view, wearing the banded white dress that marked her apart from them. Of an average height and with subtle curves to her features, the woman stepping into the space was every inch the example of an Accepted. She bowed with perfect grace to an ageless Aes Sedai on the other side of the hall, then straightened and glided into the room with such control of her body that Egwene could think of nothing better to describe her than a swan. Her auburn hair held close to her in in an intricate pattern of braids, the only sign that she had moved at all was a small pendant hanging from her forehead that looked exactly like Moiraine's. Her amber eyes held their gaze, and she could feel the other novices staring back as the silence lengthened. Everyone seemed to have caught their breath; the woman before them, Accepted or no, seemed to demand it of them.

It didn't seem possible for the woman to straighten, yet somehow she did. "I am Jeaulise," she gave finally; and though her voice was calm Egwene could feel the strength behind it. She shuddered to think what it would be like to have the full force of that drive brought to bear on her. Jeaulise eyed them all in turn before pacing in between the chairs. "In time, I expect to hear that every single woman here will become adept at reasoning or arcane lore, master arbiters between nations, and defenders against all the forces of the Shadow. But your paths shall be your own, a journey for you to decide as you grow. For now, we shall practice drawing upon that common thread which binds us all to the White Tower, youngest novice and Aes Sedai and even the Amyrlin Seat herself. I speak of embracing _saidar_ , holding the female half of the One Source and channeling the weaves with which we guide the world.

"To reach out to _saidar_ is to reach out to serenity itself. One can neither ask for it in haste nor in passion. The rose does not grow faster from the insistence of the sun, or slower from the rain's damp; it grows as it will, at its own pace. Much like the rose, the One Power cannot be forced into any direction. We yield to it, allow it to encompass us, and only then do we weave with the Power. Before you progress we shall train each and every one of you to hold _saidar_. Do not be discouraged if you cannot succeed immediately, for as with any worthwhile endeavor it is a task that taxes both mind and spirit. You will have to train yourselves to withstand these tolls, and to know when to stop yourself from reaching too far. As such, I hope that all of you are well-rested and prepared for the rigors of the day."

Egwene must have betrayed her own fear, for she felt Jeaulise's eyes as they passed over her. Was it her imagination, or had they lingered on her? A shiver ran down her spine, for she did not want to imagine what would happen to her if she let her tiredness get the better of her. She was not certain whether the Mistress of Novices would assign her a harsher punishment than the Accepted, but she was loath to find out in any case.

Jeaulise came to a halt at the front of the room, and for a heartbeat Egwene thought she had missed something the woman had said. "What I would like all of your to do," she finally continued, "is to close your eyes. Empty your minds of all thoughts, all cares, all distractions. Focus on the image of a rosebud. Feel its nascent life. Feel its every curve as it sits dormant."

With a quiet sigh Egwene did as she was told, running herself through the exercise at her own speed. The image of her own mental flower was clear to her by now, and she was half-tempted to try reaching out to the sunlight, to the One Source itself. She could almost feel it just out of her reach. Mindful of the extra lessons she had received, she sat and waited with her crystalline flower, frozen in wait until Jeaulise moved the class to the next portion.

"Know its scent, know the colors on its petals. Smell its fragrance as it grows. Feel its roots stretching through the earth Feel the rosebud sway in the gentle breeze of the morning. Feel the sap flowing through the stalk, the petals, the leaves."

Her voice faded into a comfortable monotone, droning and soothing all at once. Egwene let it fade until she caught her head on the verge of bobbing down from its own weight. Startled by her inattentiveness, she mentally shook herself, scooting her seat closer to Elayne and hoping that the movement went unnoticed.

"…to be the rosebud. Now imagine a light above, the most brilliant and beautiful light in all of creation. See how the rose petals unfold to that light. Feel the radiance as the light radiates from the source. See the sharper colors, smell the heightened fragrance. Rejoice in the sublime ecstasy from that Source. Can you feel its power surrounding you?"

Of a sudden Jeaulise's voice stopped. Terrified that she had finally caught her ire Egwene's eyes snapped open. She was still in the classroom, but there was not a woman in sight. The room was empty, save for the chair she sat in. She could not even say what time of day it was; the air seemed to glow with a faint light, not strong but enough to illuminate the space around her. There was a preternatural stillness to the air, as if it had not been disturbed in ages.

Slowly she rose from her seat, taking the sight in. Surely everyone hadn't vanished, unless they had somehow used the One Power to move without being heard. Was she being punished for attending the lesson while tired? The thought stuck in her mind like a worm, and in a bout of panic she raced for the door. There was no one in the corridor beyond, no congregation of novices waiting for her to stick her head out and jeer. She would have felt relieved, but the knowledge simply highlighted the lack of people in this section of the White Tower. Deciding there was nothing for it but to wait, she walked back through the door.

Her chair was nowhere to be found. In fact, the entire classroom was nowhere to be found. The room in front of her was filled with furniture, none of which she recognized. Ornate carvings worked from a strange wood, tall lamps that stood unlit, bookshelves crammed with tomes and maps. The floor tiles formed an intricate pattern in the colors of all seven Ajahs, leading past the comparatively plain desk and wicker chairs tucked in a corner to a terrace beyond them. Stacks of papers seemed to litter the desk, in piles that shifted even as Egwene watched them wink out of existence. Puzzled, she approached the desk, reaching out to one of the top pages. It stayed in her hand for a few moments before disappearing, leaving no sign of its existence. Now thoroughly baffled, she smoothed her dress in agitation, hoping against hope to find something that made sense in this increasingly absurd situation.

The smallest finger of her right hand twinged in pain. Crying out, she pulled it closer to her, feeling something slide off. In the odd twilight she saw what looked to be a dark string leading back to the center of the room. She could just make out two shadowy figures, dancing and jittering around a woman whose back was turned to her. It had become murky there, as if the light of this strange place could not penetrate to the heart of the activity. The two strange beings waved their spindly arms about and chittered away in a strange muffled tongue, leaping and turning around their prey, all the while drawing closer to her and binding her with the same dark ties.

Egwene strode up to the precipice of the strange gloom, trying to make out more details. Nothing more could be seen. Though she had no idea what the shadowy figures were doing inside, she didn't think they had the best of intentions for the woman in between them. Building up her courage, she assumed what she hoped was an impressive and intimidating pose. "Whatever you're doing to that woman, stop it at once." No one gave any sign they had heard her. Cautiously, she toed closer to the murk. Her small finger throbbed in pain yet again, and she withdrew it before it burned from the string. Drawing herself up again she took in a breath, stepping toward the darkness. "I demand that you leave now. You interfere with the business of the White Tower."

The woman inside inclined her head slightly, but her fetters would allow no further movement. Egwene crossed her arms in contemplation, stepping back. It was only when she heard her boot connect to the tile that she realized she had stepped into the darkness. The insight unnerved her. She did not want to touch that darkness, but there was no other way to save whoever was inside. Bracing herself for the worst, she crossed the threshold.

The chittering became magnified inside the strange dome as the creatures danced. Neither of them had noticed Egwene yet, but that was the least of her concerns. Despite having only seen it once, and though the stole of her office hung in tatters around her neck, she would recognize that ageless face anywhere.

"The Amyrlin?" She blinked, praying this was a cruel joke. "What are you doing to the Amyrlin?"

At her voice the creatures stopped. The one closest to her turned, moving its arms in an unnatural manner to keep its strings from tangling. The two creatures were mirror images of each other, and dredged from the depths of nightmares. Their pale white faces hovered in contrast above their darker bodies, faces pale and gaunt and framed by sickly strands of hair. Most alarmingly, their mouths were firmly placed where their eyes should have been, with an upturned nose underneath. There were no eyes; there were sockets where they should have been, filled with an emptiness that had haunted her nights since leaving Emond's Field.

"it sees too much," the first one chided in a voice that had no gender. "it thinks itself so mighty and brave that it charges into danger."

"it ties itself to this one," the second added, squeaking in a pitch too high for humans. "down and down and down again, and all the way it helps us."

"perhaps we should tie them together?" the first one asked, gathering dark strings from across the murky space.

The second one seemed to ponder the notion before a wicked upside-down grin appeared. "no. it is too curious, and this one wants to play with their game before the hunt is up."

Faster than was possible for their broken bodies they leapt at her. Egwene barely had time to bring her fist up, catching one of them on the nose. It squeaked in pain, leaping backward. The other circled her, the same nasty smile on its face. "it is clever, too. but it is not clever enough to save itself!"

Too late, Egwene realized she had been caught in their snare. The thing yanked, and she dropped to the floor. Another yank, and her hand was wrenched away from her. The creature skittered over the floor, giving a cry, and sunk its teeth into her finger.

She sat up, wresting her hand away in terror. The room shifted back in focus, with a few novices staring at her as she clutched her finger. At the head of the room Jeaulise stopped her pacing. "These exercises can be tiring, but you must make sure to remain alert at all times. One cannot embrace _saidar_ when they are too tired." This time she pointedly stared at Egwene before moving on, and Egwene though she was going to wither under her scrutiny. Then, surprisingly, she gave a tiny smile. "If you find yourself reaching the limits of your capacity, there is no shame in admitting as such. Only a fool presses on when she knows she is beyond herself."

Massaging her finger, she turned to Elayne, who had an apologetic smile for her. "I hope that didn't hurt too much," she whispered, "but you weren't waking up from light pinches. I had to try something stronger."

Egwene nodded. "I understand," she mumbled absentmindedly, staring at her hand for teeth marks. "It was better this way, I suppose."

Jeaulise stood next to her, consoling the girl to her left who was on the verge of tears. "It's alright, Else. There are not many who can hold the Source on their first try, and you came closer than most." She straightened, falling into her perfect grace. "Again!" she called out. "For those of you who still have the endurance, we shall begin the exercises again." With a final rub on her knuckle Egwene closed her eyes again, determined not to let her tiredness get the better of her. She _would_ make it to being an Accepted. She would _not_ let this beat her, even though the instructor's voice was so soothing. Even though she was so tired it felt like she had just run around all of Emond's Field. Maybe she was still running, after all. It felt like she was running.

She was running again, in the old nightmare. The broken cobblestones and dilapidated buildings of her memory were becoming more familiar to her than the waking world, her heightened pulse and faster breathing making her almost as alert as when she held _saidar_. She ran through the streets as quickly and loudly as she dared while leading Bela, darting between tendrils of Mashadar. The red star twinkled faintly in the distance, visible just barely in front of a squall line that threatened to cover the sky; though, dark as it was, there was still plenty of light by which to see, coming from nowhere in particular. Around her, the echoes of Trollocs searching for her and her scattered friends filtered through each crack, echoed down every street.

Egwene fully expected to run into a patrol of Trollocs every time she turned a corner. She didn't know how she and Perrin had managed to make it as far as they had. They never seemed to make more than a few turns in this dream before they were spotted, and tonight she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them. She looked up at the sky again, but the view was completely obscured by angry thunderheads that roiled from unfelt winds. To look at the clouds, a veritable war of the elements should have been crashing around her ears; yet there was nothing to disturb the relative quiet save the sounds of the Trollocs hunting them.

She peered down a nearby alley, clutching Bela's reins like a lifeline. Though the darker skies made it harder to distinguish clear shapes, she thought there were several manlike forms gathering just past where she stood. She froze, her pulse hammering out a frantic tattoo. If the Trollocs had seen her, surely they would have called out; yet none of the animalistic forms so much as turned her way. At a pace that made a snail into a prize racehorse she backed away from the corner, sweat trickling down her face.

Her feet landed unevenly on a strange object, and she almost fell over. Egwene grabbed onto Bela's neck, very nearly crying out from the shock as the world lurched around her. Heart pounding, she leaned for a precious second on the mare's neck before reaffirming her footing, sliding her feet instead of picking them up. When her stability returned she glanced at the ground where she had last stepped. Perrin's axe, dimly glowing with that same strange light, lay at his feet.

Egwene took a calming breath before reaching out to her friend. "Pick it up!" she hissed. "There's Trollocs right around the corner!"

Perrin blinked as if dazed, looking at her in confusion. When she tugged at his arm, he turned to the axe at his feet. His brow furrowed, a mixture of anger and reluctance on his face.

Egwene took a nervous look at the road behind them. A wall of fog obscured the path, tendrils of Mashadar lazily reaching out from the main gathering. "Perrin," she called nervously, "we really need to keep moving. Please pick up your axe."

She heard him grunt. Inclining her head, she saw him gripping his shoulder. A bird of prey had landed on it, a hawk that sunk its talons into his flesh. It focused on her for but a moment before directing its gaze to Perrin. A half-formed thought of hers marveled at the sight, for something living to be found this deep in Shadar Logoth, but most of her concern was for Perrin and the hawk that could do the Light knew what to him. He didn't seem to notice; his attention had shifted to something in the distance. His face was still a picture of indecision.

Egwene resisted the urge to growl in frustration – surely she would have managed a growl, and not a frightened whimper like what she truly felt – and adjusted her skirt to pick up the axe off the ground. She was no better with it than the quarterstaff, certainly not as good as Perrin, but she was fair certain that she would fell more Trollocs to its blade than to blunt strikes alone. She reached for its hilt…and grasped only air. With a start she realized that the axe had vanished. Her eyes widened. Hadn't it been between them? Had Perrin picked it up?

A sudden howl interrupted her thoughts. From the dark recesses beyond them Trollocs spilled out, flooding the space between, dozens of them, hundreds of them, Darkspawn enough to make what happened at Emond's Field seem no more threatening than a year of bad crops. They came with the heads of goats, of boars, of bears, of crows, of wolves; they came on hooves and claws and misshapen feet. The sound they made was a mess of howls and shrieks and half-mangled cries. With no other avenue and three obvious targets, the Trollocs charged.

Egwene's mind blanked for an instant, unable to process what she saw. In that brief time, every feeling and reaction she had felt was wiped away. In their stead, a mote of a thought, singular of purpose yet made of the hardest steel.

_I will fight to defend myself_.

Ignoring the Darkspawn charging at her she reached out to the One Power, embracing it as it embraced her and weaving instinctively. Weaving with saidar was like mending shirts back home, only you had to weave with threads that wanted to pull away from the pattern you set them in. Targeting the ground directly in front of her, she wove cores of Earth, cylinders of tightly-knit lace with barely any room between the lattice-structure; then she forced entwined threads of Earth and Fire in between holding the weave together through sheer force of will alone. It quivered with energy, longing to be freed onto the world. She could actually feel the thin cracks in the street where she channeled, threads of Power bulging into them as she prepared a final, stronger lace of Earth and Fire to provide the final push she would need.

"EGWENE AL'VERE!"

The world lurched in a direction that she could not describe. She felt as if she was tumbling, standing, and freefalling all in one motion; she didn't know whether to flail or hold stock-still. The night fled from her and left a classroom in its wake, full of wide-eyed girls in white dresses and a woman on whose face sat such rage that storm clouds would be made breezes in comparison. Memory flooded back as Jeaulise spoke, her nostrils flared in agitation. "I have been tolerant of your flagrant disregard for direction, and I showed you lenience once. Apparently, once was far too many times one should offer kindness to a child such as yourself. I asked that you arrive to this lesson well-rested, and yet you prove yourself incapable of even sitting in a chair without dozing off. I asked that you stop these exercises if you found yourself growing weary, and you took advantage of the proffered time to do what you should have been doing at yesterday's end bell. Languid, slothful, indolent! That a charlatan such as yourself pretends to the mantle of Aes Sedai is a stain on all the White Tower has ever stood for!" She paused for breath, and Egwene could have sworn the room still reverberated with her tirade. "Have you aught to say for yourself but convenient reticence, or is silence your preferred method of communication when met with confrontation?"

Head still swimming, Egwene bowed meekly in her chair. "I didn't mean to," she said numbly.

Jeaulise barked out a harsh laugh. "'You didn't mean to?' What else were you insinuating from unabashedly falling asleep? Is this exercise so trivial to you that my instruction proves useless to you? Are you ready for the final tests to acquire your shawl now?" Egwene bowed her head further. There was nothing she could say in her defense, and her deference here may keep her from ill will later on. She heard Jeaulise click her tongue. "To the Mistress of Novices with you, then, and inform her of your negligence. It is not my place to mete out punishment, though actions such as yours demand it."

There was nothing else to do. Head bowed in humility she rose from her chair and walked silently toward the entrance. At the door she felt a crunch underneath her foot, an unevenness to the normally flush floor. Curious, she lifted up her boot. The tiles had been forced out of their grooves, bits of plaster fragmented around them. Some pieces even had minute cracks webbed through them, the thin breaks almost impossible to see. Egwene blinked in surprise. How had that come to pass? There had been no sign of the plaster failing when she had walked on it earlier.

"Was my instruction unclear, or did you doze off again? Begone, before your continued disrespect is noteworthy."

With a bow Egwene left the classroom, walking down the hallway to the office of the Mistress of Novices. She had been there often enough that she could probably find her way there faster than anywhere else in the tower. Strangely, she felt no urge to be upset as she thought she might. What had happened was entirely her fault; she could have stopped at any time and admitted she was too tired to carry on. But she could not stop. She had to keep trying. Perhaps the Accepted had been harsh, but the entire purpose of the White Tower's training was to mold women into the best Aes Sedai they could be. She had to live up to that model.

Having reached the Mistress of Novices door she knocked once, waiting deferentially to the side. After a moment a voice called out for her to enter. The interior spoke of a woman with many duties and far too little time. Papers covered almost every available surface, and while they were as neat as possible they threatened to spill onto the floor in no few instances. The woman behind the stout desk was slightly plump but still fair in the ageless Aes Sedai way, fiery red hair tied behind her so as to stay out of the way. She finished a paragraph on the parchment in front of her before glancing up, setting her pen down in surprise. "Egwene. This is an unexpected surprise."

Egwene bowed her head. "Sheriam Sedai. I have been sent here for laziness and disrespecting an Accepted."

Sheriam steepled her fingers in front of her. "That sounds most unlike you, Egwene, and I am rather curious as to the circumstances surrounding these charges. Why don't you clear the papers from that chair, and tell me what happened?"

When she was done Sheriam leaned back in her seat, hands now folded in her lap. "I hate to say it, but that does rather sound like Jeaulise. Her love of the spoken word is unfortunately matched with her flair for the dramatic. I wouldn't be surprised if she picked the Gray as her Ajah, once she passes the tests and has that theatrical strain worked out of her." She tapped the back of her hand before shifting in her seat. "But that is immaterial to us right now. There are two issues which have been put before me. Of the first, unfortunately you have shown disrespect to an Accepted. There is nothing I can do for that, save assign you a punishment. One month's work in the kitchens."

Egwene bowed her head. That much was to be expected. "Of course, Sheriam Sedai."

"However, I think there is room enough with the second issue that we can find an accord." When Egwene looked at her in shock she gave a reassuring smile. "I'm not a monster, Egwene. In spite of the position I hold, I don't hand out punishments just to make life more miserable. Being the Mistress of Novices is just as much about being fair and supportive as it is about being strict and demanding. It is my understanding that you have worked with the Yellows on embracing the Source. How would you say your progress has been with them?"

Egwene was at a loss for words. The Mistress of Novices was getting her out of a punishment? "I…" She cleared her throat. "I can almost always touch the Source, with the help they've given me. And I don't ever try unless another Aes Sedai or Accepted is watching."

Sheriam gave a decisive nod. "Then I would say you are further along in this study than the rest of the novices in your class." She reached for her pen and a blank piece of paper, writing as she spoke. "For today's incident, I confine you to one day's bed rest. You can start your additional chores tomorrow." The note finished, she returned her pen to her desk. Her voice softened. "What you went through when Moiraine brought you here is more than most sisters would even face alone. I understand that healing from an ordeal like that takes time, especially having lost so many that were close to you. If you say you need time, I think it necessary to take that time."

Egwene felt so conflicted by her judgment. She had expected Sheriam to hear her case out, but this felt too lenient to her. She had fallen asleep in the lesson. She rose from her chair, bowing once more. "Thank you, Sheriam Sedai. If that is all, I will go to my day of rest now."

As she walked toward the door Sheriam spoke once more. "Be sure you don't push yourself too hard, Egwene. No one wants to see you burn yourself out."

She had no idea what to make of that, so she gave what she hoped was a convincing smile. "Of course, Sheriam Sedai." With that, she walked out into the hallway.

When she reached her quarters she was convinced that she was now too awake to actually use the day of rest. She hadn't even felt the urge to yawn once when she had been in the Mistress of Novices' study. She changed into her shift, folding her dress neatly and placing it next to the rest of the dresses that had been given to her. The kitchen work was understandable, but she shouldn't have been let off so easily just because she was tired. That should be her burden to compensate for, not the White Tower's. As she crawled under her covers she took a deep breath. Perhaps tomorrow she would do better. She _would_ do better. She would become an Accepted, and make it to being Aes Sedai.

She didn't know when she fell asleep, but she knew that she was no longer awake. She was surrounded by a void, alone; but unlike the darkness that seemed to stalk her dreams of late, this just seemed empty. It was simply an absence of things, with no threat directed at her. She tried moving, felt as if she was moving toward something, but there were no indicators that she made any progress. She willed herself forward, feeling a disjointed vertigo from the effort. The feeling returned, a sense that she moved without moving. That didn't matter; she knew she could move, so she had to keep moving, keep advancing.

A faint glimmer sprung up in the nothingness. Now with a focus, she doggedly moved onward, feeling that same strange moving sensation. The light grew steadily brighter as she approached, the void retreating as she grew closer. It wasn't that the void disappeared, so much as the light illumined the emptiness. She kept moving closer, kept pressing forward. There was a reason she had to reach that light, but she couldn't say why. It only mattered that she get there.

Suddenly the light enveloped her, and her vision exploded in detail. It was as if she found herself in front of a great tree, with innumerable limbs reaching outward. On its branches grew leaves, so many leaves that she could not hope to count them all. They swayed and shone in the void, sparkling with light. There was no end to them; the tree stretched onward as far as she could see, impossible though that seemed. Egwene marveled at the sight; she tried to drink in every detail, for she felt that she would never again see this.

As she moved closer still a faint silhouette manifested, closer to the tree. She moved closer, wondering who else could be here in this place. When she could make out who it was, her heart froze. This was impossible. She would never see him again. But what if it was actually him? She hesitated, unsure, before calling out.

"Rand!"


	4. Chapter 3: The Wheel Weaves

It shouldn't be possible. It _couldn't_ be possible. But there he was, turning to face her in the light of the strange tree that was the only feature in this place. He looked much the same as he had back home: red hair tousled, slate eyes full of confusion and disbelief, simple tunic tied shut and slacks just a touch worn. His riding cloak was nowhere to be seen, but why should he have it? He could have just stepped off his farm from the Two Rivers. Perhaps he had, and everything else was just a strange and twisted dream. Egwene smoothed her dress out to calm herself, and to her surprise she felt stout Two Rivers wool underneath her fingers instead of the bleached fabrics of the novices. Startled, she looked down at her attire to find that she was wearing the same dress she had worn for Bel Tine, though she was certain she had thrown it out after it had fallen to pieces. That was simply another mystery about this place, though it was certainly not the most pressing concern at the moment. For now, she had to wrap her mind around how Rand was here in this same place.

He looked as stunned as she felt, blinking in shock. "Egwene? How did you get here?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I thought you—" The memory of that terrible night threatened to overwhelm her, an overwhelming sensation of loss threatening to overcome her in slate of the walls she had built. She couldn't bear to say the words, not when he was standing in front of her. She looked to the great free for a moment before continuing, using the distraction to collect herself. "What happened at Shadar Logoth?"

Rand spread his hands wide. "I can't remember. One instant I was fighting for my life next to Mat, and the next — nothing. Then I found myself here."

As the silence lengthened and she realized he was done with his tale, Egwene couldn't help but feel a little perturbed. She crossed her arms and did her best impersonation of a Wisdom. "Rand al'Thor, that's a terrible explanation. I've heard Mat come up with better stories than that when he was half asleep. You've even managed to turn Cenn Buie into a gleeman by comparison."

His cheeks flushed. "I'm not trying to hide anything, it's the truth! I don't know what happened to bring me to this place. I don't have all the answers like Moiraine does."

Egwene tried to let the comment go, but the memory of the haunted look on Moiraine's face was too fresh. She ground her teeth in irritation. "Just because Moiraine Sedai knows many things doesn't mean she knows all things," she countered hotly. "She's human just like us."

At her words Rand scoffed. "Human. How could you ever think that? She wields the One Power!"

"Using the One Power is no more an unnatural ability than Perrin's skill with a forge or your father's eye with the bow. And might I point out that you weren't so quick to judge the One Power being used to heal him from almost certain death?"

"It was the only thing that would work. I was willing to pay the price for her help, just as I would for any tradesman."

"And the tool she used to accomplish her trade was the One Power."

"The One Power was what broke the world!"

"It was wielded by men! Fallible, misguided men who were trying to do what they thought best for the world."

"So now it's only men who are misguided and make mistakes?"

"I never once said that! Though you are proving a fine example of the woolheaded stubbornness that got the world into this mess in the first place!"

Rand had a positively mulish look about him now. He squared his shoulders, furrowed his brow — and hung his head. The tension drained from him like a punctured water pouch. "I'm scared, Egwene," he whispered. "I don't know what's going on. I have this feeling that I need to go somewhere, and I don't know why or how to get there. Worse, I'm starting to remember things, only they're not my memories." He knuckled his forehead. "I feel like I'm losing hold of what's me, and there's nothing to stop it from happening."

All frustration drained from her as he went on. After all, he may have been able to try a stone's patience, but in the end he was the same person she had grown up knowing. He was still Rand. She uncrossed her arms and closed the gap between them, hugging him close to her. "There's always me," she offered. "Don't you ever think that I'll let you forget who you are, Rand."

She felt him embracing her, forcing a laugh as he did. "I don't think the Women's Circle is going to let us marry anymore," he managed in a broken voice; and if the hug she gave him afterward was stronger, at least his was just as fierce.

"I miss you so much," she admitted. "You and Nynaeve and Mat. I feel like there's no one I can talk to him, and Perrin doesn't visit anymore." She buried her face into his shoulder, leaning into him. "Light, some days I feel like there's no point in getting out of bed."

"It was all because the Myrddraal found us," she felt him saying with a shake. "I wish it hadn't come to the Two Rivers. I wish we could have stayed."

They wept together, holding each other in between the glow of the strange tree and the vacuum. Months of stress constrained over the long days of study in the Tower slowly drained out of her, every tear a cathartic release. She could not say how long they stood there, for time seemed to be a foreign concept in that place. Eventually they came to a natural end, sinking down to a floor they couldn't see and admiring the spectacle before them. They spent a long while enjoying each other's silent company. Egwene didn't want to admit it, but her heart felt that there was truth in what Rand had said. Ever since she had set her sights on the White Tower, her sole focus had been on becoming an Aes Sedai. Such a monumental goal didn't leave room for anything else. A last bit of stubborn denial allowed her a tiny smile as she nestled closer to Rand. Just because it wouldn't have worked didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the moment while it lasted.

She watched the leaves dance before them, colored in greens and golds and reds and all sorts of impossible hues. Each frond swayed in an unfelt wind, dancing its slow pattern as they grew and died and grew again, the growth always slightly different. It was mesmerizing, in a way. The limbs were hidden from sight, but they must have been truly gigantic to support as many leaves as there were. And the trunk must have been just as massive, at that; she wondered if it truly did stretch on forever, or if it was simply a trick of this strange place. As she watched a section of turquoise wink out of existence to be replaced by a brilliant patch of scarlet and amber, she squeezed Rand's arm contentedly. "I wonder what the tree feeds on to give its leaves such strange colors."

She felt Rand shift next to her. "What tree?"

Egwene gave him a playful shove, looking up to meet his gaze. "The tree right in front of us. What other tree would there be?"

His gray eyes were filled with confusion. "You see a tree? It looks like a giant mess of ribbons to me."

She shot him a warning glare. "Rand, if you're trying to lead me on just to have a laugh I won't be happy."

That made him stutter for a heartbeat. He pointed with his free hand, shaking his head. "I'm serious, Egwene. It starts that way and goes all the way over there, and there's so many threads that make it up I couldn't begin to count them all. It looks like the tapestry the gleeman brought for his stage for Bel Tine when I was seven, only there's no pictures in it and the pieces are of all sorts of colors."

It made no sense, but it sounded like he was telling the truth. She sighed and let the matter go, watching more of the leaves quietly wave to their own rhythm. She felt the need to confide in Rand, about what happened after the night at Shadar Logoth. It was so nice to just be there with him, but somehow she knew it wouldn't last. "After we escaped from Shadar Logoth, the whole city collapsed in an earthquake," she told him softly, forcing herself through the memories. "There was a terrible dark energy that was released, and it split the earth through the world. Moiraine Sedai told us that you were the Dragon Reborn. She thinks the Darkspawn attacked you to prevent you from challenging the Dark One."

Rand sat motionless for a long time. As the silence stretched on Egwene began to worry that she had somehow pushed him away, that he would find some excuse to leave. Eventually he sighed. "I think she's right. I don't want to be the Dragon Reborn, but I think that's what I was going to be whether I wanted to or not." He ruffled his hair, staring at the giant tree with an unreadable expression on his face. "Maybe I'll still be the Dragon Reborn," he mused, as if to himself.

Egwene chewed on her bottom lip, turning to face him. "How? You can't be the Dragon Reborn now, you're...you're not in a position to be that person. I don't see how exactly you're supposed to break the world from here."

Rand exhaled loudly through his nose. "I don't know. Maybe it's not possible. I just thought that there was some truth to the stories, how the great heroes would always promise to do something 'under the Light and by my hope of rebirth and salvation.' People don't use that kind of oath lightly, so I suppose I thought there was something more to it." He paused for a beat before carrying on, each word propelling him forward. "And if you think about it, the Dragon Reborn would have to be reborn in order to be who he is. If anyone has a chance at rebirth, it would be him. And then there's the Heroes of the Horn! They're all supposed to get reborn throughout the Ages. I mean, think of Birgitte Silverbow and Gaidal Cain! No gleeman worth his salt would think about a performance without at least a few of their adventures ready to be told."

He brought good points to bear, even if she was loathe to admit it. Of course, she couldn't let him think they actually were good points; his pride had to be kept in cheek, else his stubbornness would be impossible to deal with. She patted his arm, settling back against his shoulder where she could look upon the impossible tree and its leaves. "Men of legends and mythical heroes. Are you certain you haven't just been listening to a gleeman's tale the entire time?" When she felt him deflate she shook her head, grinning to herself. "I didn't mean it as an insult, Rand. It would be nice to know you could come back." Her good cheer lost some of its mirth as she reminisced on the events which had brought them to that place. "I just wish you hadn't left in the first place."

Rand let out a pensive grunt, carrying on as if he hadn't heard her. "Of course, every time they were reborn the heroes never knew it. They came back with no knowledge that they had been legends before, or would be legends once again. The Hundred Companions certainly never knew what infamy awaited them." His voice had a strange timbre to it, reminiscing on the statements as if he had somehow lived them. "Perhaps that was the Light's way of protecting them, or allowing them the chance to prove themselves. Maybe they have been rewoven into the Pattern, to right their wrongs and prove themselves yet again. Maybe the Pattern wanted to have the mad Dragon prove himself as well, by allowing him life through a sheepherder's eyes." He chuckled, and Egwene felt a kernel of fear growing in the pit of her stomach when she realized she could not say who was speaking anymore. "This minds me of Emar Dal, and the discussions I would have with its philosophers. They always said the art would keep the city's memory alive through the Ages, and to be fair it did have talented artists, but I would always travel there to hear the speakers. I remember the debate Arik Ciran Pelea held with Akukain, on whether the cycles of the Pattern meant that men were fated to make the same choices. Five days it went on, and it felt like the whole of the city stopped to hear them speak."

Egwene repressed a sudden urge to shudder. Never mind that Rand was talking about things that made no sense and about which he could have no knowledge of — there was no city called anything close to Emar Dal from what she could tell; the closest she had heard of from a single class on the study of the nations was Ebou Dar, and from the descriptions given she doubted very much that the two were remotely the same — what concerned her was that there had been no pause between Rand as she knew him and whoever else's life Rand was speaking from. She clung to his arm, forcing her voice to be calm despite her unease. She could not bear to look at him. "Rand, you're beginning to scare me."

As if his name dispelled whatever had taken hold of him, he jumped. "Egwene, I..." Rand paused, unmoving, and Egwene chanced a glance upward. Myriad emotions played across his face, and he stared at the tree as if transfixed. Of a sudden he tried to wrest his hand away. "I have to go."

She pulled against him. "I promised to be there for you, Rand, so you would never forget who you are. I wasn't trying to make you leave."

He succeeded in freeing himself from her grip, rising from the ground. "No, it's not like that. I have to go. I think this was part of what I've felt, ever since..." His voice faltered, and he covered his face with his hands. "Ever since I died. Oh Light! I know it's true, but it's so hard to say out loud."

Egwene forced herself to breathe, searching for the Aes Sedai tranquility as she stood. There would be no more tears from her; she had given her share. "If you are the Dragon, and I believe you are, then you will come back; and when you come back, I will be there to remind you of home." How did those women manage to stay so calm? If she hadn't just vowed to remain in control of herself, she would be bawling like a spring lamb. Breathe. "So go where you are called, Rand al'Thor, and the Light willing we will see each other again."

The pain on Rand's face nearly broke her, but as she was stretched to the limit of her composure he gave a solemn nod. "The Light shine on you, Egwene al'Vere. May you be well in the coming days." He gave her one last smile tinged with sadness, turned away, and was gone. There was no flash of light, no great fanfare; he was simply there with one step and gone the next.

She took one last look at the glowing tree, and it struck her that there was something different about it. She could not say for certain, but it was almost as if there had been a missing branch until that moment. The tree looked whole to her, complete in its ever-changing pattern. With nothing else tying her there, she stepped out into the oblivion, feeling the radiance shrink behind her. After a time, she lost all awareness of anything else and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was the point in writing when I discovered how massively deep a rabbit hole I had fallen into. My tote bag after this point became a conglomeration of reference books, looseleaf printouts of various elements within Randland, at least two maps, some calculations scrawled out on the back of those maps, and anywhere between three and eight "Wheel of Time" books. It still hasn't recovered from that transition.
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> -EJT


	5. Chapter 4: Lessons

A methodical hammering reverberated through the village of Osenrein, the only noise breaking the peace aside from the occasional cart trundling along the single road that led to the nearby metropolis of Tar Valon. The blacksmith's forge, once dormant except on the rare occasion its master had to mend a crucial piece of metalwork, now sprung to life under the careful eye of another artisan. The rest of the townsfolk carried on with their lives, quite content to let this strangely quiet but equally skilled young man repair the tools and household items they left for him on the master's porch.

Every morning for the past month Perrin had shown up at Master Feste's workshop, stoking the fire until he could bend iron into shape. The aged man never spoke, nor did he raise a hand to stop Perrin. He seemed content to let his forge be brought to life once more, watching from his porch with a cane polished by use laying across his lap. Years of work and healing from accidents had left their mark on his physique, leaving some fingers warped and a nose no longer straight. Scars that crisscrossed his body turned his skin into a patchwork testament to a life fully lived, for a man now trapped with a lame leg and twisted visage. Only his eyes seemed to have remained untouched, twinkling brightly as they caught the fire's light. When first he had visited the village Perrin had feared that he was the man from his earlier dreams, the man with the endless inferno in his eyes; but one of the villagers had assured him that Master Feste had been living in Osenrein for longer than she had been alive, and that like as not he was simply glad for the company. Perrin had cautiously accepted the explanation, and now he took no more notice of the forge's master than he did the forge itself.

The days were just beginning to have a touch of heat to them, enough that it was more comfortable to spend the afternoons in the shade than outside in the uncovered streets, or stuck inside ever-warmer rooms crowded with people. The peddlers and criers had certainly used the change in weather as excuse enough to crowd the throughways cutting through Tar Valon, dragging out the already slow business of going anywhere from a simple headache into a grueling endeavor ten times as long as it had reason to be. Perrin had found himself rising earlier, to get away from both the heat and the people, but with nothing to do he ended up ambling around the city. Once he would have marveled at the fantastic shapes, the myriad colors to the stonework and the patterns into which they had been worked; but exposure had long since inundated him to the renditions of flowers, of mountains, of tree trunks, of strange twisting architecture that made no sense. The need for something less alien had driven him further and further each day, and each night he had returned to the Flame's Hearth a little later. He had discovered a surprisingly large green in the southeast section of Tar Valon, full of familiar plants and exotic growths he had no name for. When he had asked Alsyn, she had laughed and told him it was one of the last Ogier groves still untouched from before they had left the world. It had been peaceful to remain, to wander among its trees and admire the craftsmanship — after all, the Ogier had been mythical builders in the stories, responsible for the majesties of Tar Valon, Andor, and other metropoles — but after a time his hands itched for something to do, unconsciously dismantling the blacksmith's puzzle as he walked. Besides, the beauty of the grove was all well and good, but it was nothing like the woods from home or even the wilds he had travelled on the somber journey from Shadar Logoth. He missed being surrounded by nature, not some artificial approximation. He missed solid homes about him instead of the forced elegance of the city.

A month back had seen the end of Perrin's patience for sitting in the Flame's Hearth with nothing to do save wait for Thom's increasingly uncommon visits. He had set out with no clear direction, but the need to get out of the city drove him further and further away. His feet had carried him down the smaller alleys that shadowed the larger streets, avoiding what few crowds could be found in the early morning. The air had been just filling with the scents of fresh bread, vendors had started opening their shops. Perrin had walked right past them, shifting his cloak as he neared the fabled Shining Walls until he came to the great gated leading to the world beyond. He had kept walking until he came to Osenrein, right up to Master Feste's workshop where he began hammering away at raw ingots until he had worked a passable trowel.

Beads of sweat worked their way down his face now. The plow head in front of him glowed a brilliant yellow ochre, flakes of iron littering the anvil from the strikes of his hammer. Perrin inspected the tool for imperfections as it cooled before lowering it into the water barrel, taking simple pleasure in the hiss as vapor rose. Here there was good, honest work. Here was something he could be proud of. He pulled away from the fire to wipe his face, enjoying the breath of fresh air and the early morning air as he stepped out. Master Feste was not on his porch as he normally was, leaving the scene in front of him feeling strangely incomplete. As a matter of fact, there was an unnatural dearth of work left for him. His brow furrowed. The townsfolk had told him only recently they were bringing work from the neighboring villages around Tar Valon, so if anything there should have been more for him to do.

He felt a tug on his sleeve. Master Feste had managed to come up next to him soundlessly, an empty basket strapped to his back and a small pot in one hand. He stood motionless now, leaning on his cane as he waited for something. His eyes never left Perrin.

Perrin straightened, giving a deferential nod. He hastily pulled off the forge gloves in case the man took offense at his forge being run by a stranger. "Master Feste, good morning to you. I hope you don't mind that I've used your forge."

Stoic as ever Master Feste simply turned and walked away. A defined limp left him hobbling at a methodical pace toward Tar Valon. Perrin raised an eyebrow in confusion. In the days he had been coming to Osenrein, he had never known the man to leave his front porch, let alone his property. "Um...Master Feste, do you want me to mind your grounds while you step out?"

Master Feste stopped in place, slowly turning to face him. His hunched figure cradled the pot under his arm as he shifted the basket on his shoulders. His eyes remained fixed on Perrin.

It took him several moments to realize that he was waiting on him. As he came to the realization he bowed, pulling his gloves back on. "Of course. I'll just bank the fire before we leave." Each step around the space found another tool in his hands to be put in their proper place. Once the tools were returned, he covered the hearth with a coat of ash to keep the lit coals warm and choke out the air. If there was one thing Master Luhhan had drilled into him, it was that safety and order were of the utmost importance. All else could wait while they were tended to.

If Master Feste approved he showed no outward sign of it. He had relocated to the side of the road, patiently waiting as Perrin tidied up. When he finally made to follow the elderly man turned around and trundled onward, basket wobbling from side to side with each step.

Perrin caught up to him in a few strides. He could think of no reason why they were going to Tar Valon; the workshop always seemed to be well-supplied, and he was never lacking for charcoal or raw metal with which to work. He eyed the basket as it lurched back and forth. "You know, I'd be happy to carry that for you—"

The hand he had used to reach toward the basket suddenly stung as Master Feste slapped it away with his cane. He never faltered or slowed, simply keeping his pace along the packed earth. Perrin bit back an exclamation, falling in behind Master Feste.

They walked in silence through Osenrein. The village continued to hold fast to the road, following its subtle curve westward until it came to the foot of one of the magnificent white bridges leading into Tar Valon. Perrin would have liked to take a closer look at one of them and their impossibly thin design, but he doubted he would be allowed the chance. Besides, even if he could he wouldn't understand how it was accomplished — this being connected to Tar Valon, it was probably made with the One Power; and the less he could deal with that, the better — so he was content to walk across and appreciate the bridge as a finished work.

He carried on with the path toward the Shining Walls until he felt another tug on his sleeve. Master Feste stared at him before turning away from the path, walking down the gentle slope to the river banks. The ground held firm until they came within a stone's throw of the water, when the solid earth gave way to softer soil and clusters of reeds. It was here they finally stopped, with Master Feste lowering his basket to the ground and driving his walking stick into the mud beside it. He reached into the basket and produced two small shears, one of which he handed to Perrin, and beckoned him closer. Clipping two reeds he proffered both for inspection before tossing the green shoot back in the river. The brown, dying reed he placed in the basket, looking up as he did.

Perrin nodded. "I think we can find enough dead reeds around here to fill your basket easily." He chanced a smile and was met in kind with the old man's twinkling eyes.

They toiled for most of the morning, clearing the area around and under the bridge. The infrequent travelers would slow as they tried to fathom what the two strange men were doing, but eventually they moved onward. Only the crowd from the village remained behind. Perrin could tell they were watching by the way they were clustering, just happening to find chores that could be done by the river. The Two Rivers folk had been the same way whenever something out of the ordinary occurred. He paused, allowing himself a melancholic chuckle. Odd how only a few months away could let him think about home without being homesick.

When they had finally stuffed the basket as full of reeds as it could hold Master Feste returned to his pot. Laying the lid atop the cut stalks he bent low to the earth, scooping up wet clay with his gnarled hands and dropping it in the small container. Perrin minded his every action, for Master Feste seemed to be measuring what he took with practice born of many years. Of a sudden he rose, pulling his cane free of the earth and closing the lid to the pot. He began his shamble up the bank, leaving the basket behind. With the message clear Perrin hefted it off the ground and placed it on his own back; the weight of reeds was no measure to the tests of strength even an apprentice blacksmith had to endure.

He scaled the bank with little trouble, passing Master Feste with ease. Moving until he was on solid ground he turned back, offering his hand to the aged man. "I can help you up the bank if you want, sir." Again the walking stick flashed out with lightning speed, and Perrin had to bite his tongue to keep the curses locked away. He stifled his irritation and turned his attention to the city proper as they returned to the road. Surely the guardsmen on the Shining Walls could see them; did they think this was some village ceremony, or just a doddering old man with an unfortunate apprentice in tow? As they walked in silence, Perrin realized that even he couldn't say what he would call the morning's events.

Back through Osenrein they walked, the train of villagers growing longer behind them. Perrin was convinced they were talking amongst themselves, but he couldn't make out a single word. He made a few fleeting attempts to make out distinct conversation from the babble, but wherever his gaze fell the inhabitants abruptly and studiously busied themselves. Spots of dirt miraculously manifested on their clothing. Children suddenly needed minding. Laundry collection, gossip-mongering, boisterous conversation — all while pointedly facing another direction save one towards him, yet curiously compelling them in the same direction in which he followed Master Feste. Perrin caught himself grinning. The same thing had happened in Emond's Field whenever someone was caught doing something strange, everyone milling about town with some purpose or other; he had always thought it impossible to notice the difference when anyone save Master al'Vere, or maybe Wit Congar, had gone out of their way to scrutinize strangers. Perhaps there were more similarities between the Two Rivers and Osenrein than he had thought.

When they returned to the forge, the throng of people was so great that even the growing midday heat paled in comparison to the press of so many bodies gathered in one place. Master Feste paid them no mind, trundling up to the forge with the same obstinate pace he had kept the entire day. When at last Perrin caught up with him, the old man shuffled over to the grand door to the forge and, with no preamble or warning and a surprising display of strength, slammed it shut on the watchers outside. A collective tut of disappointment rose from the crowd gathered outside, followed quickly by an irritated buzz of words Perrin couldn't distinguish through the walls.

With no sign of care that the entire village had just been ogling their passage Master Feste ambled over to the burlap sacks full of fuel. He passed over the brown and black coals to a smaller bag set beside them. Perrin felt a momentary pang of fear. He had replenished the coals through trade, as the need arose. Had he used some of the more valuable fuel unknowingly? With baited breath he stood watching him, feeling naught but pins and needles. The old man looked over its contents with the same twinkling stare, nodding in satisfaction at the sight before him. He shuffled over to the hearth with the sack draped over his back, placing it next to the basket of reeds. After giving the bellows a few presses to reignite the embers he doddered toward the small table of reagents in the far corner of the room, motioning for Perrin to join him.

Perrin looked to the now-glowing coals, and how close the two fuel sources lay to its heat. "Master Feste, we really should move the bags away from—" His knuckles once again found themselves stung by the impossibly quick cane, jerking back from the blow that had already been delivered. A crook from a wizened finger pulled him away from the fire, though he dragged his heels in the journey across the short space.

The old man balanced his walking stick next to him on the table, casting his eyes over Perrin before rummaging through the fluxes arrayed in a pattern only he saw. From in between two of the larger jars he procured a small crucible, a sturdy work of fired ceramic whose sides had not felt the delicate strokes of the artisan's colored glaze. Master Feste dumped small lengths of wrought iron into its open mouth, and after those went myriad ingredients the likes of which Perrin had just the barest of notions as to what purpose they served. He burned their names and measurements into memory, though he as yet had no idea what the different fluxes would do when combined so. All the same, it was clear that they were meant to create something grander of the more banal components being combined in front of them. He glanced to the walking stick, rubbing his knuckles without thought. "Ah..." He cleared his throat, proceeding carefully. "Master Feste, what type of iron are you planning on making with all these purifiers?"

Master Feste emptied the powdery substance in his hands into the crucible, twinkling eyes meeting Perrin's own. He let the question hang for what felt like an eternity before giving a smile, just barely noticeable for how little it moved his face. "Finally, a question. I had thought you to make a living on telling me how to do things, rather than ask what I did."

If he hadn't been watching his lips move Perrin didn't think he would have believed the words had come out of the man's mouth. He resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair in surprise. "You can talk?" he asked incredulously.

The smith wiped his hands off on his pants leg. "Lad, I could always speak; but it would have done me no good while you were unprepared to listen. Don't look so dejected as that, you're better than most — many I've seen can't even follow me or help gather my resources, and you managed to do all that and more — but you still needed to learn to listen. This is not a craft that survives without listening."

Perrin shook his head. "I'm not certain I understand what you mean."

Master Feste resumed his measurements, and though he listened Perrin felt compelled to watch the master's every movement. Master Luhhan had been gifted at the forge, but this man worked with decades more experience even than he. The old man tapped an iron spoon on the side of the crucible to free the last of its contents before continuing as he worked. "The blacksmith listens to his teacher, for it is at his hands he learns the trade. He listens to his forge, to know when it is hungry or cold, and tends to it for both their benefits. The blacksmith listens to the trader to learn his needs and supply them, to the metals he heats in order to shape them into wondrous forms. He listens to himself to keep the balance he must in order to work. He listens to his fellows and learns to trust them." Master Feste reached toward a lone pane of glass which Perrin hadn't noticed was wedged in between two of the jars, wrapping it securely in a kerchief and setting it on the table. With no preamble he picked up his cane and whipped its head down squarely in the center of the covered mass, shattering it. "Your trust was broken before you came to me, and you had rather you acted than listened."

Perrin clenched his fist. He saw what Master Feste was talking about, but he had not been as brash as the man claimed. "But that's not true. Today when you asked me to come with you, I offered to help with all your tasks." Even as the words left his mouth, he started realizing the truth in what Master Feste had said. The events of the day played back in his mind's eye, and suddenly he knew what the aged man meant. He had assumed Master Feste couldn't carry his tools, he assumed that he needed help at the river bank and that the fuel would go unwatched by the fire. He had assumed help had been needed forging tools in the first place. Those were the only times his hand had been slapped away. His fingers slackened, and Perrin nodded his head after another moment of silence. "I think I understand," he gave slowly, "even if I don't know how to change just yet."

The quiet stretched on for some time, yet the sparkle in the old man's eyes did nothing but gleam bright. "I am proud of you, lad," Master Feste murmured. "Even grown men matching my years have difficulty admitting their fallacies. I, myself, did not trust you to know which side of an anvil to face upward when you arrived, and yet here you remained serving Osenrein in my place." He smiled as he gathered up the kerchief and deposited its contents into the top of the crucible, shaking the tiny shards in to join the larger fragments before slowly covering the whole container with a plain lid. "However, trust, like broken steel, can be reforged, and I am sure you are not so petty as to hold onto any grudges that may prevent that. Would you be so kind as to seal the top in the river clay we collected earlier? Make certain not to leave any length of the seam exposed, or the metal inside will be useless."

Perrin nodded, reaching for the pot and scooping out a generous handful. As he spread the wet clay around the seam he glanced at the man. "How thick should the seal be?" he inquired, focusing intently on the crucible to ensure no length of the seam was missed.

It could have been his imagination, but out of the corner of his eye he thought Master Feste nodded slightly. "Just thick enough to hold the seal against changing gases. There is no need to draw more heat away from the metal within and into the useless clay than necessary."

Perrin adjusted the pressure of his thumb, leaving an amount he thought would be satisfactory. He straightened from his task and was met with the approving twinkle in the master's eyes. This time, there was a definite nod. "Yes, that will do quite nicely." Master Feste picked up the crucible with both his gnarled hands and ambled over to the fire, placing it gently in the center of the coals with no seeming regard for the heat. He reached into the basket for a handful of reeds, snapped them in twain, and surrounded the crucible with their dried remnants. At four points he placed the gray-white fuel, dusting his hands off as the last was placed. "The reeds build the fire and provide a faster heat, while the coke will eventually sustain that heat," he explained. "We shall use a prodigious amount of the reeds we gathered today in crafting this steel, but it will be for the better. In the meantime, I shall have to ask you to man the bellows and provide us with enough air for a fire hotter than any smelting you may yet have seen. In my youth I could have handled both the bellows and tending to the fire, but my old age has seen me hobbled more than I care to admit." The twinkle was still there in his eyes, but Perrin felt as if a touch of sadness had worked its way into his countenance as well. He nodded, giving the bellows as hard a compression as he dared. He forced himself to a reckless smile. "Well, let's get about to forging as if you were still at both, but with twice the efficiency."

Master Feste shifted to meet Perrin, chuckling. "Yes. Let me borrow your youthful energies for one last work today." He set about piling more reeds about the crucible as the fires rose, and Perrin was certain the twinkle in his eyes was reflecting mirth and excitement.

They worked for the rest of the afternoon, Perrin stationed at the bellows to keep the fires bright and hot. The crucible had remained surrounded by the heat for almost two hours, after which Master Feste had plucked it from the white-hot center and placed it on his anvil to cool. When he had chipped away the lid and hammered away at the congealed fluxes inside, he inspected the ingot for imperfections, the same fire stoked in his eyes which had grown as they worked. Other than a few murmured words under his breath the master had said nothing to him, tapping the bellows when he was ready to begin again with smithing. He heated the metal to a yellow heat, splitting it in half before it had a chance to cool. What was done with the halves, Perrin had no idea; his view was obscured by the bellows he worked, and he would not allow himself to let the fires die. He reveled in the reverberations around the forge as Master Feste worked with his hammer, the sputtering as hot metal met cold water, hardening the steel and heating up the room even more, and he felt the old joy of forge work with new life. He found that his muscles did not tire as he expected them to, but rather kept working just as strong as before.

Eventually the hammering stopped, and Master Feste pulled him away from his task. Perrin wiped the sweat off his forehead and followed. Atop the anvil were two plow heads, one which he had made only this morning. The other must have been of the steel from the crucible, but there was something strange to it. The way the light played on its surface was irregular. He found himself reaching for it and stopped, unsure if he would be allowed. "Master Feste, what is different about the plow head you made?"

The fires of life seemed to dance over all of Master Feste's face now, though he still hobbled to the anvil. He gestured to the newer copy. "This steel is made using a technique my own master created after many years of experimenting. He claimed to have rediscovered it from ancient writings and lost masters, but he could be prone to exaggeration at times. For myself, I do not think it was the result of anything save hard work and several failures; but it does have several unique properties. It will resist the onset of rust, and as such requires less oiling and maintenance than most normal iron or steel tools. There is also, of course, the more striking characteristic which I have no doubt you will see upon closer inspection." Master Feste picked up the head, handing it blade-first to Perrin. He inspected it by the fire light and nearly dropped it in surprise. The metal had a pattern running through it unlike anything he had seen before. If he had to compare it to anything, it had taken on the likeness of grains of cut wood; but even that did not justly describe the swirls and sinuous formations that seemed to flow through the metal. "What happened to it?" he whispered hoarsely, studying it as he could.

Master Feste shrugged. "I do not know," he admitted. "Master Wit, who taught me how to smelt steel in this manner, had a number of different names he attributed to the pattern, but I simply refer to it as his steel. There is one more thing I feel you should know about it." He reached out his hand, and Perrin readily surrendered the plow head. Returning to the anvil, Master Feste propped the original plow head on its side, held the newly smithed head perpendicularly to its blade, and swung with a mighty blow of the forge hammer. The tone rang out in the empty space, and Perrin had to blink to clear his head. When he saw the result he rubbed his eyes in disbelief. The single stroke had buried the plow head halfway through the one he had made earlier, the metal curling away as if still warm. As he watched Master Feste turned the ruined piece over, giving the new plow head a gentle tap with his hammer. "Do not think you crafted a poor piece of metal, my boy. This is simply a more resilient product." He offered the newer head to Perrin for inspection, and he was amazed to find not even a nick in the curved edge to show where it had struck its erstwhile copy.

Perrin gave the work back almost reverently. "This type of smelting could change so many things," he breathed.

The old master nodded. "Quite true. It is why my master swore that he would never use his craft to forge a blade of war in this manner, and why I took the same oath when I apprenticed under him. But I think I shall not ask the same of you. This world changes, and though it has always been violent the coming days feel as if they will be full of greater doings than I care to know. The Wheel of Time turns, as the learned minds say."

A chill ran up Perrin's spine, and suddenly the warmth of the hearth seemed to him so distant as to provide no more heat than a gleeman's picture would. "They do say that," he found himself replying. "In any event, I think I should return to the city; I don't want to be out after dark."

Master Feste nodded. "Quite right to seek that sanctuary. Before you leave, I wanted to give you one thing." He reached for his belt and procured a knife of such strange design that for a moment Perrin didn't hear the man's next words. "I had enough steel left over to make this, and while a knife can be used for battle it is best served as a tool in the hands of one who knows how to use it. I want you to have this as a reminder of what you have learned."

The shock of the two gifts of knowledge and utility sent Perrin's mind reeling even more. He forced himself to bow. "Master Feste, I would be honored to accept."

The teacher clapped his hands in delight, the bright twinkle stronger than ever. "I have great hopes for you, Perrin. Some day you will have to return here and tell me of your tales, for you seem to be the type to find adventure in your paths; but for now, let that path lead you back to safety. As for me, I must find myself a new apprentice with more to learn than you, for the young are ever in need of proper discipline."

He walked with Master Feste to the door of the forge, and was only mildly surprised to find the first colors of twilight streaked through the night sky. With an absentminded wave to the forgemaster and another look at the knife in his hand, he let his feet carry him back toward Tar Valon through the stunned silence of the villagers of Osenrein. His mind kept returning to the blade and Master Feste's words, long after he returned to the Flame's Hearth and past Alsin's insistence he retire for the night. What stories did he have to tell? What type of days did he have in store for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember when I still had hope. I foolishly thought this would be a few chapters exploring a concept, but I guess the rest of me had bigger plans. So much time, so little social life left. Ah well. It was totally worth it.
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> -EJT


	6. Chapter 5: Again the Road

The noise of the gathered crowd in the Flame's Hearth washed over Perrin as he sat at his usual table, tucked out of the way of most prying eyes. His own eyes could see well enough in the half-darkness now, though there was still plenty of illumination from the hearth to make out the patterns in the knife Master Feste had given him. It truly was a marvelous thing. He had tested its edge against a leaking mug Alsyn was about to throw out, and it had carved a sizable divot out of its lip with barely any resistance. He half wondered how deeply he could carve into the ax that lay forlorn by his backpack, before shaking his head and taking another sip of ale.

He was glad for the numbing warmth tonight. Over the past month something had changed, and he couldn't settle on what it was – or rather, several small things had changed and they all had him confused. His sense of smell had sharpened, almost uncomfortably so, to the point that he could smell the sweat of hard work or the fetor of drink on a man, or even the faint wisps of the dried lavender Alsyn must keep around her clothes. Voices were easier for him to hear, even if they were whispered or muffled; if he worked at it, he could make out a few phrases from the patrons sitting almost across the common room. He had stopped his travels to Osenrein as well; the few times he had returned to the village he had felt compelled to keep walking, to run down the road, to fly over the unknown countryside as if he was hunting in the woods back home in the Two Rivers and the game trail was freshly laid out before him. The day he realized his feet had carried him almost out of sight of even the Shining Walls he had turned straight around and locked himself in his room, wanting nothing more than to figure out what drive had been calling to him.

Perhaps strangest of all was a sense of openness. He had no other way to describe it, other than a feeling that there was more happening just beyond him than he had ever known before. When he was half-focused, it seemed to him that there were sometimes presences skirting around the periphery of his thoughts – he had no other word to describe it, and he rather doubted anyone else would believe him if he told them; they were like as not to call him mad, and lock him away out of the public view – and there were times, if he focused enough on these presences, that he would almost feel a startled question shot back at him. But the notions were hazy at best, like trying to spot a deer in the woods through a thick fog, and he never really knew whether they or the presences were actually there or simply imaginings in his mind crafted to escape the boredom of his daily life.

He found himself staring at Master Feste's knife once again, and started at the reflection looking back at him. Something seemed off about it, and as was too often the case recently he couldn't immediately say what it was.. He turned the blade to look at the whole of his face and began closely studying what he saw. It could have been the firelight or some other strange trick of where he always sat, but even in the strange illumination of his half-hidden corner he could have sworn his eyes had a slight tint of—

"Well lad, it seems like you've found something to do with your spare time."

Perrin nearly dropped his knife as Thom's voice broke the silence. He placed it down on the table, trying to hide his surprise as his mind raced with ideas as to what Thom was doing here. "I didn't know you would come back," he finally managed, hands gripping the mug in front of him as if it were a lifeline. "I thought you would be busy doing things in the White Tower."

The gleeman gave a disgruntled harrumph as he crossed his arms. "Women will always leave men ignorant of their doings if they deem it prudent, and only speak of them after the man's half out the door. It was foolish for me to think any different of those pulling the strings of the world." He looked toward the White Tower, twitching his mustache. "But the folly has lived its life. We move on, much as you seem to be ready to. Have you given any more thought to my offer?"

Before Perrin could stop himself the words tumbled out. "Have you? I thought you had forgotten me." His hands froze. "Thom, I...I didn't mean that. You've probably had so many things to take care of you couldn't get back to me."

Thom wore a dejected grin on his face, and Perrin's heart sank with his words. "There's more truth to them than I would like. You're well within your rights to think that. I guess it was my fault in more ways than one, thinking that you'd stay busy as Egwene has. But the Wheel weaves, and life goes on, and men learn from their mistakes." His mustache twitched before he nodded. "I finally received word from my contacts in Saldaea, and after a few letters they agreed to send some men to speak with you. Their ship is resupplying in Northharbor for the next day, and they've offered to share dinner with us tonight. If you're still willing to hear what the man who forgot you has to offer."

Perrin cursed himself for the rash comment. Even if Thom had been busy, he had never meant any wrong from leaving him; else his words wouldn't have cut so deeply. He nodded, focusing on sounding as appreciative as he could without being patronizing. "I would be very grateful for it, Thom."

The gleeman's face regained a mote of its original happiness, and Thom reached out to pat his arm. "My boy, I don't know what they teach you lot at that Two Rivers of yours, but I was a Lightblinded fool to dismiss you as woolheaded sheepherders." He cleared his throat with a nod to the common room. "Anyway, let's see if these gentlemen will take on a country bumpkin such as yourself," he announced in an emboldened timbre, mostly to himself. "I half-doubt it, but you continue to surprise me with your skill at making the impossible happen." With that, he swaggered off through the crowd, patchwork cloak fading into the press of the throng.

In the wake of his passing Alsyn slipped through, holding a pitcher safely above her as the crowd resumed its milling about. She checked on the table before Perrin before slipping over to his, avoiding a collision with an overly exuberant gentleman dancing to the song that somehow carried over the din. "Did I see correctly that Master Merrilin was just at your table?" she inquired, filling his mug almost to the brim. "I thought he only knew you in passing."

Perrin shook his head. "Thom and I have some shared history between us," he gave slowly, raising his mug to her in thanks.

Alsyn set the pitcher down on the table with a thud. "Oh," she said simply, wiping her hands slowly on the apron protecting her dress. Perrin raised his mug to his lips before a new scent came to his nose. It was similar to Alsyn's normal lavender, but there was something more to it. He couldn't place it, as was infuriatingly the case with so many things these days, but it smelled familiar to him. As carefully and obliquely as he could he studied her again under the guise of a long sip of drink. There was a tautness to her muscles, a slight strain in her smile. One of her fingers was twirling a loose tie to her apron around itself as if it were a noose. Perrin had the sudden memory of being caught by the village elders with Mat and Rand, and Mat tousling his hair as he concocted some wild story. He fought to keep his features calm. Alsyn was nervous? What reason would she have to be nervous?

The relative silence stretched out for a moment more before she motioned toward Thom's path. "Well, hopefully it's not anything too serious, right?" Her tone was just a little too forced, now that he was paying attention to the cues. Something was definitely making her nervous. Perrin relaxed as obviously as he could, giving her a genuine smile. He had used the same approach when helping to return frightened sheep to their homesteads. The best method was to be as calm as possible, until eventually the sheep themselves calmed down. "Nothing serious at all," he replied. "As a matter of fact, it may very well be good news. He's been looking for a job for me."

Her face lit up, and he mentally congratulated himself on the better reaction. The strange worry-scent had even disappeared. "Perrin, that's wonderful news!" she exclaimed. "Did he find a job with one of the smiths in town? Was it Master Edam? I know he was thinking about taking on an apprentice."

Perrin shook his head. "He was looking outside of Tar Valon. He thought, and I agreed, that there would be more opportunities for me if I wasn't in the city."

There was a momentary pause before Alsyn continued. "Well, that makes sense," she gave with a nod, though there was a tinge of the worry-scent once again as she continued talking faster and faster. "I'm sure the smaller villages would have need of your skills, and you've certainly made a name for yourself in Osenrein at least. Maybe you could take up an apprenticeship in Daghain, or Darein. I have a cousin that lives in Darein, and he has a spare bed in his cottage. I'm sure you could live there until you find a place of your own. Besides, it's no great journey to come back to Tar Valon if you have to—"

He held up his hand to halt the flow of words. "Alsyn," he said gently, "he's been speaking to some Saldaeans. They're going to leave tomorrow morning, and I aim to travel with them."

The color drained out of Alsyn's face, and a look of profound hurt came over her features. "I see," she mumbled, a new scent emanating from her. Perrin had to force himself to concentrate; bad enough that he thought he heard voices, but now he was smelling people? What was happening to him? He barely registered her commenting about leaving the pitcher for the new guests before she was off moving through the crowd once more. Perrin gave a start, half rising to follow her before he noticed Thom approaching him with two strange men at his side. The gleeman pointed in her direction, opening his mouth before waving his hand. "I'll speak to her later," Perrin heard him mutter. When he met Perrin's eyes he continued in a louder voice. "Lad, these are the two gentlemen I was telling you about. This is Tarran, and his partner Adrin. Adrin is attached to the Saldaean Guard, and his work on occasion takes them both out of Maradon into the world beyond the Borderlands."

Both men nodded, and Perrin took the interval to study them more closely. They were both of strong features, Adrin with prominent cheekbones and Tarran a jawline that could hew stone. Pockmarks lay scattered across the right side of Adrin's face, with so much of the original flesh missing that it was a wonder he didn't feel constant pain. Neither of them wore overly colorful garb, and there were no visible weapons on their belts, but they both moved with an ease that set Perrin on edge – not because he felt threatened by them necessarily, but because he had a nervous sense of what they could do in a fight if they chose, even unarmed.

Tarran extended a hand larger than his own, and his grip held his firm in what Perrin could only imagine would be a stranglehold if he was pressed. A respectful nod was the only sign of emotion from otherwise stoic features, his almond-shaped gray eyes impossible to read as he sat down. "So, the much-praised young man does exist. Well met, Master Aybara. Let me first offer my sympathies for what befell your friends. Saldaeans know the pain Shadowspawn inflict well, but it does not soften the blow when it falls."

Adrin set his own darker eyes quizzically on Perrin, grunting in agreement. "May it serve to strengthen your resolve with its force. Tell me, do you have any desire to train as part of the guard? We've always need for capable hands in the Borderlands, and you have more than proven yourself by Master Merrilin's account."

Perrin made to decline the offer, but a sudden vision overtook him of running through empty wastelands in search of Trollocs, a thrill to the chase he had never known in the flight to Tar Valon. He saw the beasts' frantic scramble away from him, heard their cries as he gained, and it filled him with visceral joy. He could feel the axe handle suddenly in his hand, an extension of his self as much as it was a tool to end their lives, and wanted to reach out to their vile limbs and rip them away from their bodies, to tear their twisted forms with the teeth of his steel. It was only with supreme effort that he forced the image out of his head, and he was grateful for the solid presence of the table in front of him. He forced himself to breathe slowly, calming his heartbeat from the frenzy into which it had been worked.

None of the men made any sign of noticing the episode. Tarran laughed, goodheartedly pushing Adrin's shoulder with his own. "By the Light, you feel like you need to make that same offer to every able body we come across, don't you? If I didn't know any better I'd swear you had an interest in seeing our defenders numbering more than the people they protect."

Adrin shrugged. "If it halts the Trolloc hordes I will do it. But I see your point." With deliberation he moved his hands to his hips and returned to Perrin. "I would hear of your skills from your own mouth, Perrin Aybara. What can you bring to us?"

Perrin was at a loss for words. What could he bring to them? He allowed himself a mouthful of ale to think. "I mostly deal with tools," he replied honestly. "Where I come from, tools are more needed than any sort of weapon or armor. I hadn't even seen any great amount of weapons in one place before I came to Tar Valon."

The Saldaeans' faces darkened, and as Perrin thought on his words he realized how foolish they made him sound; but of a sudden Thom tutted rather noisily. "Modest to a fault. I should have had a sterner talking-to with you about your abilities before these men arrived." He huffed in irritation quite noisily. "Gentlemen, if this lad has not yet been trained in the art of bladecraft it is not from any lack of skill on his part. His master was able to forge a half-moon axe of such elegance that I have yet to see its equal in any of the southern lands, and I dare say that you would be hard pressed to find more than a handful even in Maradon. I am certain young Master Aybara will be bringing it with him to the docks in the morning. Further, you will find that he has plied his hands at the beginnings of what he would need to know already. On his belt is a knife he forged just the other day, and it speaks to a burgeoning talent that will soon eclipse any smith you have taking your crown's coin."

At the mention of the knife Perrin opened his mouth to protest – it wasn't his skill, but Master Feste's, that had brought it into the world, and he shouldn't profit on another man's abilities – but his thoughts were halted by a localized thunderclap as Tarran brought his hands together. From the momentary hiccup in the crowd's chatter, he was not the only one to have been startled by the sudden noise. "New work fresh from the fires, you say? How excellent! It's good to see that you continue to hone your skills. Come, let's have a look at it." Perrin looked between the two strangers and Thom, hoping that someone would give way on the point; but he was met with near-identical copies of expectant smiles. With reluctance he drew the knife from his belt, placing it lightly on the table.

Immediately it found its way into Tarran's grasp, where it looked more apt to cut small butter pads than as the tool it should have been. "Amazing," he breathed, turning it over and weighing it as he spoke. "Truly remarkable. For a utility piece I was expecting something crudely shaped, but this is marvelously well-balanced and artful. The guard is both utilitarian and graceful, the spine perfectly bevels into the hilt. It could very nearly be used as a parrying blade." He offered it hilt-first to his partner. "What think you?"

Adrin held it to a nearby lamp, inspecting the patterns Perrin knew were folded into the metal. He was silent for a beat. "This metal is new to me." He raised his head, scars holding the shadow to his face. "How did you fire it?"

An unfamiliar sense of pride filled Perrin. "It is a technique given to me in confidence by a great man," he gave. "The resulting steel can be worked and fired as normal, but the piece will be stronger and more resilient. The technique was entrusted to me, and I will share its result; but I will not betray the trust of the man who taught me."

Tarran let out a low whistle. "If what you say is true, Master Aybara, you could stand to make a small fortune on this technique. There are many who would wish to have you in their employ, and no few who would steal you away to unlock its secrets."

The man's words seemed to raise hackles on his neck, but he thought of Master Feste's lessons. Affronted though he was he forced a smile, hoping it would seem genuine; the lessons may be true to him, but their practice would be an effort for some time yet. "I'm not in this for coin. If there's a need for me to bring my services to Saldaeans, I will make the journey. If there's a skill I need to learn, I will learn it. All I ask is the chance to work, to do what I am good at."

Adrin inspected the knife once more before handing it back to him. "You know this technique of yours. Can you replicate it outside of Tar Valon?"

It felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. Could it be done? He had a moment of panic set in before he reviewed what went into the steel's smelting. None of the components were that difficult to come by, and most were incredibly common and simply in particular quantities. The only difficult thing would be to make certain there was a steady flow of river reeds, and those should be found everywhere. He nodded once. "Yes. I can replicate it."

For a time the only sound came from the other patrons' conversation, and the tuning of the performer's fiddle underneath Thom's quiet complaints that the instrument wasn't worth it's wood to burn. Adrin and Tarran seemed to be having a silent conversation, and as a serving girl passed Perrin caught a whiff of very strange scents – atop the fact that he was still smelling odd things – and eventually Adrin raised a single eyebrow. Tarran let out a short laugh that was almost a bark, covering his mouth as he chortled into his fist. Mirth filled his steely eyes as they flit across the table to Perrin. "It appears we will be taking on an extra passenger on our way to Maradon. I hope you can pack your belongings quickly, Master Aybara, for we leave with the tide at dawn. Bring your axe as well; it will do you more good than your knife should blackguards cross our path." He beamed at Perrin, rising from his seat and followed shortly thereafter by Adrin. "Now, if you gentlemen don't mind I believe our food has arrived at our table, so we will let you enjoy yours in peace." He inclined his head at both of them in turn. "Light shine on you both." With that, the two of them worked their way through the bustle just before a merry jig was struck at the center of the common room.

Their own meal was eaten in quietude rather than peace, with Thom carrying on about developments in Tar Valon. Perrin only gave half an ear, nodding and grunting at the appropriate moments as he tried to sort through the changes that seemed to have fallen on his life left and right. He was distracted only momentarily when Alsyn stopped to take the pitcher away, followed as always by the scent of lavender and the strange mix of smells he thought might be sadness. Feeling guilty for how he had acted earlier he reached out to catch her as she flew away, but his arm was stilled by Thom's firm hand. "Let her go, lad. She needs her time just as you need yours."

Perrin blinked as his arm was released. "Needs her time? Thom, what are you talking about?"

Thom stabbed at a potato chunk with vehemence. "You think your presence goes unnoticed, boy? You think you can just vanish without people caring or noticing?" He let out a sigh. "Lad, I've not been there for you when you needed someone, but that doesn't mean that you were alone. You we're watched and cared for, just as Egwene has been watched and cared for. People that bring you back don't normally take well to the thought of you leaving. They want to keep helping you, in their own way. Why else would I be talking about town gossip for a city you're about to leave? You need something to fill the air while you think, so I talked. This is how you're adjusting to the change, and that serving girl will have her own way of coping. Time is what you both need now, time and the morning to come."

Perrin mentally berated himself. He had spoken with Alsyn about so many things that it made perfect sense for her to miss him. "You're right, Thom. I'm being insensitive. I should have told Alsyn beforehand, so it wouldn't have been such a shock to her."

Thom peered at him across the table, slowly reaching for his own mug. "One day there will be a woman that sets you straight, lad. I only hope I'm lucky enough to be there when it happens, so I can write your tragedy as it unfolds. And if you don't understand what I mean by that, you will in due time."

Aside from the cryptic response the rest of the evening passed uneventfully, with Perrin making a conscious effort to contribute to the conversations posed by the gleeman; though apart from one spirited commentary on how the entertainers were disgracing an excerpt of the Great Hunt of the Horn in plain chant, nothing else was brought up. Thom finally left when the last few patrons were themselves paying their tabs and turning to the door, wrapped in his cloak in spite of the gentle heat still captured by the cobblestones on the street. Of Alsyn there was no sign; the rest of the servers had vague memories of her leaving shortly before the main crowd left. With nothing else to do and apparently still forbidden from paying for his meals, he retired to his room.

What few things he still owned were packed away with haste – not so much that he was eager to leave as he had few things to pack. He left one tunic out and packed the rest away, rolling them around the more valuable items he would be bringing with him. Master Luhhan's puzzle went first, along with a straw doll representation of him made by one of the Osenrein villagers. His coin from the extra work he had taken sometimes, though he left a smaller pouch out to tie to his belt should a thief try and rob him. That was all he owned, but it had been enough for him. He changed into his shift and lay down on the bed, trying to ease his mind into sleep.

Sleep was uneasy at best, and what dreams he had did not leave him feeling ready for the journey ahead. They were too often filled with more feelings of running, of loping across the country in ground-devouring strides, but he knew this time he was not alone. The sense of other minds was stronger still, only they were not a few or even a handful. They were as a great pack, running across the earth faster than should be possible, and they were wholly alien to anything he had experienced before. Images seemed to fly past him, conveying more ideas than words alone could hope to express, and the pack moved. After a time the sense of images was replaced by one of a scent, an odor of wrongness, and he felt the urge to end the source of that wrongness even though it may mean his own death. He sped on with the pack, consumed by their bloodlust, and as they ran the dream faded from jarring realism to muted gray to the early morning details of his room. Knowing the day was too early yet he tried to rest his head once more, but even an attempt to simply doze off eluded him. He resigned himself to simply lying on the mattress until it was time for him to leave, keeping as still as possible and making the most of his last few hours.

Dawn finally came. The first tendrils of morning light brought with it the sounds of the awakening city, and even this early Perrin could imagine lone horse-drawn carts riding through the streets, their owners in a rush to set themselves up before the bustle made it all but impossible. Still, there was nothing left for him to do. He changed out of his shift and donned his pack, taking one last look around the small room that had been his home.

His boot caught on a protrusion. The half-moon axe had fallen down from its place at the doorjamb, its surface coated with a fine layer of dust. He glared at it, feeling the memory of its use and the vivid images from the night before as palpable as the knapsack on his back. He knew that he had been asked to bring it, but it seemed to him a thing of sickness. It was an ugly thing, and he wanted nothing more to do with it. After a time he stood it back on its head to lean by the door once more, though he was loathe to even touch it. The task done, he hurried out the door, leaving the Flame's Hearth for the last time.

Tar Valon by morning was still as scenic as in the full light of day, but lacking the traffic that normally clogged its avenues the city actually gained some of its fabled charm. The absence of people served to grant the scene a dreamlike feel, especially having seen it at the height of its activity. Perrin found himself staring at several of its spires as they caught the nascent sunlight, adding to the surreal feeling. With a mental shake he carried on toward Northharbor. It was time to leave.

He made it to the wharf while somehow avoiding even a glance at the White Tower. A confusing mix of frustration, sadness, and regret wormed its way through his stomach as his thoughts turned to that august edifice, the landmark that minded the world of its Aes Sedai masters. He would miss Egwene terribly, and he knew that her studies as one of their members had kept her busy, but surely they would have at least given their students parchment and charcoal to scratch out a quick message. But wishing wouldn't make a tool lose its rust. Forcing the issue out of mind he focused on maneuvering through the perpetual traffic surrounding the harbor. As his boots clicked on the broad stairs leading down to the docks he spotted Tarran and Adrin under one of the lanterns. He raised a hand to hail them, and was met with an enthusiastic hail from Tarran in return. His ears caught what could have been a murmured comment from Adrin, and Tarran let out a quiet chuckle in response. The ghost of a smile played across Perrin's face. He might not know where he was going, and he definitely didn't know what was happening to him, but perhaps it was just something else he would have to get used to in his new life. After all, there would always be unexpected developments.

"Perrin!"

The call was all the warning he had before a body slammed into his back. He staggered against the redstone arch as his knees threatened to give way. A young woman's body clung to him, heaving as she gasped for air. "Thank the Light I caught up to you," she managed. "I thought I would be too late."

Blood rushed to his cheeks. In all the time he had spent in the Flame's Hearth, why had he not learned how to talk to women? "Alsyn? What are you doing here?"

Alsyn took a moment to catch her breath before peeling herself off him. As he turned to meet her he saw that she was in a close-fitting tunic and breeches instead of her normal dress, with her hair pulled up in a bun and a pack similar to his own on her back. The axe he had left behind was strapped to the outside burlap, and its edge glinted in the growing morning light. She swept a strand of her dark hair that had fallen loose back behind her ear. "I saw your axe in your room and I knew you'd need it if you were going all the way out to Saldaea, so I ran as quickly as I could. You can't just leave this lying around! A good axe like this would be a year and a half's wages for most of us."

His head reeled from the onslaught of information, but as she unstrapped the weapon from her pack he set his shoulders. "Alsyn, I appreciate the concern; but I'll be traveling with seasoned fighters. There's no need for me to carry that around. Besides, if it's so valuable you should have sold it. You could make more use of it than me at this point."

The world spun, darkness and stars filling his vision as he felt the slap burn on his cheek. Her lavender scent was infused with a spicy smell. "Don't you dare, Perrin Aybara, don't you dare call my purse more valuable than your life! You need to protect yourself, and get over this belief that this axe makes you evil. It is a weapon, yes; but it is a tool first. Use it as a tool to keep you alive, or you'll be a very stubborn and very dead corpse on the side of the road." With that she shoved the flat of the axe into his chest and stalked off toward the pier, leaving Perrin clutching the haft in disbelief.

Perrin touched his cheek where he had been slapped. It still stung with the force of the impact, and he was surprised that he wasn't bleeding. Shaking his head to clear the ringing from his ears he placed his pack on a nearby crate and lashed the axe to the outside. Were women always this complicated? He finished his knots and made toward the docks, from which he heard a heated discussion. As he focused on the ship bound outward toward Maradon he made out a very familiar brunette bun bobbing animatedly in front of the two Saldaeans. For the space of a breath he stood dumbfounded, before he tore down the docks in their direction. There was no way in which that conversation could end well.

All three heads swiveled at the sound of his approaching footsteps. Alsyn, arms crossed tightly, shot him one venomous look before stalking up the gangplank, with Adrin following silently behind her shortly after. Tarran tsked at him with a shake of his head. "You've put her in a right mood, Master Aybara. I don't envy your end of the journey on our way, nor would I want to be near your cabin when the two of you are given some privacy."

Perrin looked to the deck of the ship, seeing sign of neither Alsyn nor Adrin. "What do you mean? She's not coming with us, she has a life here."

"Oh, she plans on making the journey with us, all the way to Maradon. She had enough on her to pay for passage on her own, and provisions to make her a useful addition on the road. In any case, Adrin was in agreement with her request, and larger parties tend to make roguish types look for easier marks; so I hope for all our sakes you can smooth over whatever disagreement you have between yourselves before we must all share a campsite."

A dockhand made his way down the gangplank to them. "Captain wants to cast off now, as his first mate's got an uneasy feel about staying longer. If you sirs would come on deck we'll be on our way."

Not for the first time that day, and not for the last time in what he suspected would be his near future, Perrin was at a loss for words. "Does everything new in life have to come with so many confusing turns?" he asked aloud.

Tarran clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh as he ascended the ship. "Where women are concerned, Master Aybara, the answer is always yes. Never expect any plan to go correctly with them around. Come, let's not keep the good captain waiting."

Perrin followed quickly behind him, finding a secluded spot between riggings where he could observe the journey. The sun was beginning to illuminate the world below it in light, and the heat, though much lessened by the breeze of the ship's sailing, still marked the onset of summer. It was, to him, one more reason to be glad he was out of the city. The caravel made good time once they were on their way, and before long even his newly sharpened hearing could pick up little more than the crew around him and the water lapping on the hull.

He sat with his feet resting over the side, pack held firmly in his arms and the axe still lashed to its outermost flap. He knew that to look back to the city would afford only another view of the White Tower, and he needed no more reminder of the group that had stolen his last reminder of home from him. But to look forward was to invite questions, questions he had no answer to and wasn't sure he knew how to solve even if he had the answers. And so, long after the crew had gone below deck or completed their duties, he sat alone with his neatly packed life and the unwanted weapon for company, staring into its wicked curvature for answers as he wondered when his eyes had picked up hints of gold to their color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> -EJT


	7. Chapter 6: Pressure

Embrace, weave, release. Embrace, weave, release. With every tenth repetition, a long chain of weaves to push herself, cycling through what she knew to keep the knowledge fresh. Egwene didn't care that she was worn to the bone, or that she had other studies to conduct. There were more important things than rest. Embrace, weave, release. Embrace, weave, release.

She knew the other novices talked about her behind her back, that she was working as one driven by the Dark One himself. They thought she was trying to belittle their efforts by working as hard as she did. Elayne had done what she could to make light of the situation, but when she thought she wasn't looking the stress showed. Egwene had pity for her, and she hoped Elayne didn't take it personally when she bore the brunt of the other novices' ire. What they thought didn't matter anyway. She had work to do. Embrace, weave, release.

The Aes Sedai that watched her praised her attentiveness to her studies, or at the very least derided her less than the other novices. In moments when her concentration lapsed she had seen several of them pausing to watch her, some going out of their way to observe her at work. She had heard many comment that with this diligence she may yet be a great Aes Sedai. Their aspirations for her would be beneficial, but they were not the end of her focus. Embrace, weave, release.

The Accepted Irella watched over her today, meant to be a guiding presence should she misstep with a weave or put herself or others in danger – though truthfully Irella was perhaps most used to this exercise than any save herself. She no longer bothered paying more than marginal attention, using the time to attend to her own studies. That suited her just fine. The White Tower's rules stated that all novices must be in the presence of an Accepted or Aes Sedai to practice weaving with the One Power, but nothing in that forbade them from applying more than cursory attention. If Irella used the time for her own benefit, so be it. Embrace, weave, release.

She prepared for the gauntlet of weaves, one which she had built over the few months of her extra tutelage, and laid into them with every fiber of concentration she could muster. Simple tendrils of each aspect alone gave way to more intricate weaves combining the One Power, meshwork growing more interconnected and complicated as she went. Earth and Water, Air and Fire and Spirit, all aspects of the One Power that she could muster went into her weaves. She built them to the height of power, until they quivered with energy, until they were on the cusp of being unleashed on the world, before releasing their form and leaping into the next.

"Egwene, I think it is time for you to be done."

With the admonishment Egwene obediently released her hold on _saidar_ , feeling her senses revert to normal. She took in a deep breath before bowing to Irella. "Thank you for watching over me as I practice, Accepted."

The woman smiled demurely. "You hardly need my oversight anymore. Truth be told, I stepped out for lunch while you were in the middle of your repetitions. Don't look so surprised; I trust that you'll not burn the Tower down about us, and it was for but a moment. It also brought to my attention that you've worked nearly through the entire lunch hour. Go downstairs before everything has been eaten; you need to keep up your strength."

Egwene resisted the urge to snort, the closest thing to laughing she did in recent days. What nobody seemed to realize was that it was never a matter of strength – that, she had built over her training. It was a question of how far she could push herself before she had to sleep, if she would be too tired to dream or if her nightmares would haunt her and sap what little rest she could find. She bowed once more. "Of course, Accepted."

The nightmares were all that visited her now. Whether they were of Perrin staring dumbfounded as Trollocs charged at him, or of Nynaeve and Lan with their hands covered in the blood of the wounds they must have suffered, or of Rand with his face so covered by shadow she couldn't make out any details, these phantasms were all that visited her if she did not work hard enough. Worst of all were the dreams of being alone, of being besieged in her parents' inn or trapped in Shadar Logoth and being unable to draw upon the One Power. No matter how hard she tried the embrace of _saidar_ would never come, and she was powerless to stop any of the atrocities her mind concocted.

Even here, in the heart of the White Tower, she was not safe. She would dream that the very halls she now walked, brightly lit and visible to the eyes of many, would be darkened and illuminated only by a strange half-light and plagued by the dark creatures she had seen in the corners of her vision since running afoul of the Accepted Jeaulise. At first she had tried to smile and convince others around her that all was well – the other novices had brushed her distraction off as focus on her studies, and Elayne had sent her nervous assurances of her support. But as days dragged into weeks and the twisted bodies with their upturned faces kept hounding her through every night, it seemed less meaningful to sustain the ruse. Now they took no notice at her unfocused gaze or desire to be left alone, and she had only Elayne for company when she studied and took her meals, or the specters of the dead when she traveled the hallways by herself.

The dining hall was mostly empty with the exception of the tables closest to the main entrance. Her normal table situated close to the kitchen was vacant but for two plates of food and a single occupant, her golden-red curls neatly braided behind her as she sat with perfect poise. As she approached Elayne looked to her, concern poorly hidden behind a wry grin. "There you are! I was beginning to wonder if I should send Gawyn out with a search party."

Egwene took her place opposite of her, reaching for food long since grown cold. "I was studying," she gave, tearing into the roll on her plate with her thumbs. "You don't have to wait for me to eat; there's no need for your food to go cold as well."

Elayne shook her head. "It's incredibly bad form to eat before everyone is seated at a table. Besides,you're always studying. Don't you think you ought to take one night for yourself after a few months of constant work? There's no need to push yourself this hard."

Egwene shrugged, pacing how quickly she ate her food. She never thought a simple yeast roll would seem to her so flavorful, nor as satisfying as it was to her stomach, but when finally it disappeared she found herself wishing for more. Still, no need for Elayne to see her as ravenous as she actually was. "What else am I to do with my time? If I am to become Aes Sedai, I need to study as much as I am able to, until I find my limits and surpass them."

"That doesn't mean you need to stop seeing people altogether. There's always Thom. I know he would appreciate the company, being left with only the Warders as conversation partners. He normally lives secluded in his room, or in the Yellow Ajah's quarters with Moiraine Sedai. In fact, I'm sure she would enjoy the company; they say that she's making a full recovery, and it's been ages since you visited with her. Or what about your friend in Tar Valon itself? Perrin was his name, correct?"

The yawning pit of raw hunger in Egwene's stomach found itself joined by a cloying sense of guilt and discomfort that spread through her body. Perrin. She had been helpless to save Rand and the others, but she had abandoned Perrin when he had needed her the most. Every day that she delayed she felt the sting of her own betrayal more sharply, until it became second nature to turn to her studies instead of trying to see him. Part of her wished she had gone once, but how would she explain herself – how could she explain herself – for not visiting earlier? There was no forgiveness for that, and she wanted to believe that he had carried on with his life. She sank into her seat, avoiding Elayne's gaze. "I'm sure he's moved on by now," she sighed. "I don't know that he would ever want to meet with me in the first place."

She heard Elayne sniff in distaste, and the likeness to Nynaeve was so strong it made her heart leap a beat. "Egwene, that's positively foolish. He knows you, and he grew up with you; of course he would want to see you again! I'll speak with the Mistress of Novices on your behalf and we'll get you at least one evening free from your duties."

Her tone allowed for no argument, and the oily guilt in Egwene's stomach was joined by fear. She had seen firsthand what became of those on the receiving end of that voice, those who felt her natural charisma unbridled by any sense of propriety or limitation. She did not think that even the Aes Sedai would be wholly immune from its force, if Elayne believed herself to be in the right. And the worst thing to have for herself, the single greatest threat to her wellbeing, was time – to think, to remember, to see the shadows wherever she looked. Her appetite fled from her. "I have to go," she mumbled, gathering her utensils and reaching for her glass.

A cool hand rested itself on her shoulder, and she froze. In her nightmares, when the Myrddraal caught her and there was nowhere else to run, their touch felt the same on her skin. The plate dropped the short distance from her hands to the table, sturdy wood thudding against the polished surface. A scream leapt unbidden to her throat, and it was only because she had not breath in her lungs that it died before it reached her lips. Reflexively she reached out for _saidar_ , filling herself to the brim with as much of the One Power as she could hold.

The hand retracted itself quickly, startled almost as much as she had been. "Um...pardon me for asking Egwene, but do you mind if I sit down?"

If her ears hadn't been sharpened by _saidar_ Egwene might have only heard a mewling behind her. She released the One Power, ashamed that she had assumed her life to be in danger inside the White Tower, and was startled to find the doe-eyed novice wringing her hands. She fought to regain control of herself, giving a curt nod. "Of course you can, Else. There's no rules against sitting, after all."

Like a hunting kingfisher she descended, smoothing the front of her bleached white dress as she shifted to and fro. Elayne offered a warm smile. "What can we do for you?"

Else's face was wan, her breathing shallow. She clasped her hands together so hard that all her fingers turned white from the pressure. After a brief pause she looked up to Egwene, her words squeezing out in a rush. "Don't be mad for asking, but I would very much like to study with you."

The request took her aback, and she blinked in surprise. "But why would you do that? You can study with the Accepted."

"What she means to say," Elayne cut in gracefully, "is that it seems less advantageous for you to study with her, when you could ask someone more experienced and practiced to help. Is there something in particular that you can only study with Egwene?"

Else started wringing her hands together, and a passing notion minded Egwene that she should perhaps sound more sympathetic. Else took a deep breath. "Well no, not exactly; but whenever I ask for help from one of the Aes Sedai they always give me a glare like I should know more about what I asked them. The Accepted make me feel like I'm stupid, but I have to ask someone, and I don't want to keep feeling like I can't do things. It wouldn't just be about the One Power; it could be about the other things we're supposed to learn about – I know I don't have much of a head for history, but history is so useful to help remember why nations have the laws they do, and Aes Sedai are supposed to safeguard what history we have—"

Egwene rapped her knuckles on the table. "Else, that's what the Accepted are supposed to do as part of their duties," she replied tersely, weary of hearing the girl prattle on. "I don't have time to spare, and I don't think it would be a wise decision to ask me to be your tutor."

"Why not? I believe it would be an excellent use of your time."

All three of their heads swiveled to the newcomer, and Egwene felt her eyes bulge in her head. There was no denying who the speaker was with her ageless face and the way in which she carried herself. Though of a plump build and handsome rather than beautiful, the Aes Sedai before them bore her station with every inch of herself, every step she took toward them. "They say that to teach is the greatest tool by which we can learn, and I think there is value in that sentiment. How else but in teaching can we learn of our own shortcomings, and work to strengthen ourselves? How else but through the lens of a student can we reevaluate the world?"

Egwene swallowed, shakily inclining her head. "Aes Sedai, please forgive us. We meant only to discuss options for Else."

"Why should I have need to forgive you? As I believe I made clear, I think this would be a great asset to your own studies. You are far enough along in your studies that aiding others would not hinder you, and you are certainly more versed in the One Power than nearly every other novice. Perhaps this will ensure you stay clear of any unsavory characters in your time here."

The Aes Sedai repositioned herself to better see the threshold from which she had entered, and as she did so another Aes Sedai entered the space. Aside from her ageless face Egwene knew her to be Red Ajah on sight – no other Ajah went so out of their way to declaim their allegiances as the Red sisters, nor did so many Aes Sedai as the Red wear their stoles as badges of pride; and the woman before them was no exception to the unspoken rule. Clad in a dress of bright scarlets, her long golden curls were framed by the shawl Egwene knew to have the Flame of Tar Valon embroidered into its pattern. She scanned the assembly before her, lips pursed silently. The other Aes Sedai showed no visible reaction to the addition. "Liandrin. How good of you to join us. Is there something you need in the kitchens, or did it strike your fancy to take a stroll with the novices?"

The woman identified as Liandrin flushed, if it were possible for her cheeks to lose any more color. She focused on Egwene, and Egwene thought she would melt under the intensity in her gaze. "There was a surge in the One Power. This girl, she is responsible for it?"

"Egwene was merely demonstrating her growing prowess in the study of _saidar_ ," the other Aes Sedai responded smoothly. "Having seen what she can do, I recommended she tutor young Else here for both their benefits."

Liandrin's eyes narrowed slightly, the only sign of irritation in her demeanor. "The Mistress of Novices, she will not approve of this usurpation. This girl, she has her own studies, and she is not ready for a thimbleful of the responsibility—"

"I will speak to the Mistress of Novices myself on the matter, and make certain that Egwene has all the resources at hand to properly give instruction. In fact, I will even make myself available to ensure that no accidents or miscommunications occur. Will that be all Liandrin, or did you come to volunteer your services in the kitchen as well? I imagine the pans used for today's sweetcakes could use a good scouring."

Egwene was certain the temperature in the room was low enough to form icicles. Liandrin stiffened, shooting a baleful glower to the other Aes Sedai; then, as if she remembered another engagement, she sauntered back out of the dining hall without pause. Egwene let out a breath she hadn't realized was being held, then looked to the other novices. Both Elayne and Else looked as if they had been struck across the face, and Elayne seemed to be chanting something silently to herself. The Aes Sedai seemed to notice none of it, motioning to Egwene. "Come. Walk with me."

Hastily Egwene curtsied. "If it pleases you, Aes Sedai, what can I do to be of service?"

The Aes Sedai waved her hand dismissively as she walked out of the room, and Egwene was hard pressed to keep up with her stride. "Call me Verin, child; 'Aes Sedai' sounds much too formal, and I am not the Amyrlin Seat. I told Liandrin Sedai that I would provide you with the resources to teach that novice – Else, was it? – and as much as I would love to simply guide you to your own path, I will not be made a liar."

Egwene managed a hasty look back to the table where her peers sat before realizing how far behind she had fallen in the short span of time. Verin was deceptively quick on her feet for her size. "But Verin Sedai, how will I tutor Else when I have my own studies?"

Verin tsked, turning a corner abruptly. "Child, you may hide from the other novices in study, but do not assume that you can hide from me. Isolation will not save you from your problems. Your sisters will one day have need of you out in the world, not sequestered away in a room. All things we do are for the benefit of all. The laws we study, the nations whose peace we help keep, the lives we save – even the history we preserve is for the betterment of the many, not just the enrichment of the one. You must learn to balance."

The news did not raise her spirits, yet she knew Aes Sedai could speak only the truth. "I will try, Verin Sedai."

"You are not listening to me. You shall either succeed or you shall fail; there is no other alternative."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, though to call the brisk pace Verin set a walk was to call lightning slow. Egwene did her best to remember her position in the Tower, for they were traversing through areas that at most she had visited once before. They came to what she believed might be the Brown Ajah's quarters – filled as it was with bookshelves, parchments, maps, and the faint smell of must, it could only belong to the Brown or Gray Ajahs; and since there was a dearth of activity and oration it seemed more likely to be the Brown Ajah's domain – and through another door that hid a great study of some kind. Verin gestured behind her. "Close the door as you come in," she called out absentmindedly, clearing a desk of clutter as she spoke. Not wanting to be the source of further irritation Egwene complied, waiting patiently by the door as Verin worked.

The study was full of curious items that all caught her eye in turn. Inkwells and quills were in copious supply, but each had their rather organized place within the room, as if they were the unifying factor holding the items around them from descending into complete chaos. Books and scrolls dominated the room, of course, but between them were myriad colors of bindings and innumerable different sizes. One colossal tome, in tatters and held together by the Light knew what, had stones weighing its pages down while a blank equally-sized book rested next to it. Skulls of strange beasts that seemed to belong to a gleeman's tales adorned the walls between each bookshelf, and one well-preserved specimen that minded her of an impossible cross between a duck and a beaver lay balanced atop one of the smaller shelves. In every possible nook and corner a curio of some sort resided, and they took all shapes: some resembled totems of a long-lost culture, some depicted caricatures of animals or people; still others were simple objects such as bracelets or flutes, or near-lifelike busts of figures she was sure were lost to the forgotten annals of the Ages.

She took all these details in as Verin worked, smoothing out her dress to pass the time. As moments became minutes and the older woman kept shuffling papers about Egwene began wondering if she had been overlooked in favor of some other task. When the Aes Sedai picked up a strange brooch stylized as a turtle the press of time started wearing on her, as if each second grated against her with the waste of opportunity for her to study. She was certain the hour for her next class was quickly approaching, yet Tower law dictated that a novice could not speak to an Aes Sedai unless first spoken to. The two needs warred within her, pulling at her nerves as the silence stretched onward. Eventually she was convinced that the only way she would reach her lessons would be at a pell-mell dash down the corridors, and though she winced even as she drew breath she cleared her throat. "Verin Sedai?"

Verin looked up, a half-focused look of confusion on her face as she blinked. "Hmm? Ah, Egwene. Was there something you wanted to ask of me?"

Part of the tension drained from her when she realized she wouldn't receive extra chores from her impropriety, yet the need for her to reach her class drove her on. "Forgive me, Verin Sedai, but is there another day I might pick up the extra material for Else? I must return for my lessons, and I—"

"Ah, yes! We were discussing that, weren't we?" Verin bustled over to a bookshelf, running her fingers along the spines. "We'll start with something closer to Kisander's Reign of Expansion, and work up from there."

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear her hair out from frustration, to dash back to where she knew she had to be; but the weight of her just-barely unnoticed offence rooted her in place. With a sinking heart she bowed. "Of course, Verin Sedai."

Ten books and far too many asides later she ran careening down the halls, stopping only when her grip on the heavy volumes began failing her. She incurred many an incredulous or ridiculing glance on her way, but it was no more than she had dealt with already. Onward her feet carried her, past studies and private quarters and other rooms that served purposes she knew not what, past them and into the entrance hall which cut the shortest path to where she should already be.

A familiar patchwork cloak entered the space from another door, and Egwene hoped fervently that Thom hadn't seen her. When he broke off from his original destination guilt joined the worry that saturated her – she wanted to make sure that Thom was alright, and she had too long ignored her obligations to him and Perrin; but had they really had to run into each other now, when she was forced to catch up on so many other tasks? "Egwene!" he called out cheerily. "How goes the studying?"

She tightened her hold on the books, focusing on the doorway in front of her. "Thom, I really don't have time to talk right now. I'm late for class, and these books are heavy."

Thom chuckled. "I imagine they are. Well, I'll not keep you now; but perhaps you could join me tonight after your obligations. I was going to see if I could catch Perrin when he returned from his escapades. He's making quite a name for himself in some of the smaller villages outside Tar Valon."

If Thom had stabbed her with daggers she would not have been cut so deeply as his words did to her. She hugged the precarious towers of books closer to her, keeping her pace. "I can't. There's just too much I have to do."

"You know he misses you."

Egwene wished she could sink into the floor, dragged down by her forlorn responsibilities and the reminder of how she had left her last friend behind without a second thought. Her resolve eroded away with each new word Thom spoke, every step he took toward her. "He never talks about it, but I know how it eats at him. I can't talk to him the same way you could; the difference in our years is too great, and he's known you his entire life. Your studies can wait for a single evening. Come out with me, and be there for each other."

She didn't register that she had been motionless until she felt Thom's withered hand on her shoulder. It took every shred of self-control she had to keep from breaking down then and there, from dropping the books and letting her duties rest. But she had chosen those duties. She had chosen this life, and even if it hurt her and drove her friends away this was all she had left to her. This was all the worth she had.

Wresting herself away she fled from Thom without a sound, towards the punishment and fate she already knew awaited her. If this was to be her life, at least she knew it would be hers. If she had regrets, at least she knew herself to be the lone author of the pain.

She entered the classroom. Jeaulise already had a baleful glare prepared for her, arms crossed and a single finger tapping her arm irritably. "So, you finally deign to grace us with your presence. Enlighten us with the reason for your tardiness."

As much as she could without dropping the books Egwene bowed. "Your pardon, Accepted. I was asked to stand in attendance for Verin Sedai."

The finger halted its motion. "A filthy lie," Jeaulise spat with quiet vehemence, "and one you should never repeat again in your life. Would that I were the Mistress of Novices; I would birch you until your hide shone so brightly you could be used as a signal flare atop the White Tower. Go and report your transgressions; I don't want to see you in my sight again this day, nor again unless you learn from your reproachable actions."

She could have fought the verdict. On any other day, she may well have, going as far as she dared in speaking to an Accepted. But this was the life she chose, and in that life a novice's obedience to any above her was expected to be absolute. Egwene accepted the judgment without complaint, seeing herself out of the room and to the Mistress of Novices' office. She did not deviate from her course to drop the books off at her room – it was her own choices that landed her in her situation, and she would live with the consequences of her choices. Instead she balanced them very carefully in a chair as she once more met with Sheriam to discuss her punishment.

As she finished her narrative the Mistress of Novices sat in silence. She added a note to one of her open books before returning her attention to Egwene. "I do not like showing leniency toward anyone many times over, let alone so close to a prior incident. However, given the unusual nature of this situation I will at least reach out to Verin Sedai and see if her account corroborates your own."

More exceptions. She could not become Aes Sedai on circumstance and exceptions. "Sheriam Sedai, I would ask for the punishment all the same. I disrupted the lesson with my absence, no matter the reason."

Sheriam's face fell into a grim complexion. "You are very skilled at forcing me into irreconcilable situations, child. I fear it must be a birching for this, though I will take no pleasure in administering it. In any case, I have some limited skill with Healing; I will see to it that you have no permanent marks."

Egwene shook her head. "With respect, Sheriam Sedai, this is one of the steps in my journey to Aes Sedai. It does me no good if one of those steps is erased."

The Mistress of Novices gave her a measured stare before rising slowly from her seat. "If that is what you feel to be best," she said. She reached for her cane, smiling for a moment. "You do us all credit, Egwene. I look forward to seeing how much you will do for the Aes Sedai."

A half hour later Egwene returned to the workroom now so familiar with her, setting her stack of books down outside the door. Her backside felt as if she had sat on the sun itself, and she ached from the simple exertion of walking. She knew that what she was about to do was against the laws of the White Tower, and perhaps that fact should be going against her better judgment, but she had been distracted from her studies for far too long already. Putting her pain, regrets, worries, and all other distractions out of her mind, she took in a deep breath and began the mantra that had become the one constant in her life, forcing the urge to fall to a gibbering mess into a dark corner of her mind. Embrace, weave, release. Embrace, weave, release. Embrace, weave, release.

•

Moiraine unfastened her kesiera and hung it on a hook inside a borrowed jewelry box. She possessed a more ornate and much fuller jewelry box, but there were too many memories associated with its contents for her to display it in plain sight just yet. Underneath it she placed the scrap of Warder's cloak that accompanied her every day, its strange fabric almost immediately fading into the grain of the box itself. She missed Lan so much, and there were still days when it was debilitating to think about him, when the gray threatened to overtake her once again; but there were also days when she remembered the good. Not all the Yellow sisters were as clinical as Sedore managed to be – some had helped other sisters go through the trauma of losing their Warder firsthand, and always seemed to know exactly what to say to keep her focusing on the present, if not always on something positive – and in any case, there was always Thom.

A knock on her door interrupted her attempt to undo the clasp on her earrings. She glanced at the jewelry box before reaching for her comb instead, tidying up her hair as it cascaded around her shoulders. A quick mental exercise gave her the level of calm she needed to receive visitors. "Enter," she called out.

The door remained shut for a beat before opening, and Thom's head poked through. He cleared his throat politely. "Moiraine Sedai," he offered humbly. "I was wondering if you would entertain visitors today."

Internally she scoffed. She had nothing better to do with her days; the Yellow sisters had long since stopped pestering her, and she had no assignments now that she had failed the world. Still, she knew that he meant well. "I can certainly accommodate for you, Thom. Please, come in."

The gleeman entered slowly, unclasping his cloak and folding it around his hands. He looked about the space awkwardly before settling on a nearby lounge, nodding as if to assure himself. He gingerly lowered himself into it, focusing on anything that was not her. "I am sure you appreciate it over the small room you were in until now."

Moiraine gave a pleasant smile. "It is certainly larger than what I had. To be honest, it does not feel like these rooms are truly mine; I never spent much time in the White Tower once I attained the shawl."

Thom nodded more emphatically, his focus still wandering. "Of course, of course. That's to be expected." He rubbed his hands together, briefly making eye contact with her. "I must confess that I was concerned for a time," he offered slowly. "I still have concerns, of course, but they are for different reasons now."

To her surprise she felt the urge to giggle. He was trying so hard to be proper and respectful of her situation, so careful with choosing words that would not hurt her, that compared to his normal eloquence the man in front of her was a blathering imitation of the Thomdril Merrilin she had come to know and respect. "Pray tell, what is the subject of these concerns of yours?"

His mustache twitched as his eyes resumed their wandering. "All of us, really. Those left after our flight from Emond's Field. We two have had our own trials – not that what I've gone through has been anything close to what you've suffered, and may the Light send that I never have to see such trauma – but of late I worry about the young ones. Perrin has been filling his time with constructive work where he can, but he has all but sequestered himself to work and his quarters. And Egwene has positively thrown herself into her studies to the exclusion of all else. Elayne tells me that there are days she has to bring food to her, or she'll not eat. She hears her studying through all hours of the night, and often she's long gone from her room by the morning. It's not right, Moiraine, but I don't know what else I can do for them but be present."

Moiraine considered his words. In the course of her recovery Thom had relayed his story to her, about how he felt uncomfortable around most Aes Sedai because of his late nephew Owyn. It struck her suddenly how much Thom had taken to their group, that he was willing to stay in the heart of the White Tower for her. For all three of them. She shifted in her chair. "You haven't failed them, Thom," she replied gently.

Thom waved his hand with fervor. "Blood and ashes," he exclaimed, "what else can I call it? I was already too late for that boy Rand and...the rest. I failed them all, and that ignominy will be etched on my core for the rest of my days. I can't sit here and watch these two walk the same road."

The pain on his face nearly broke her calm. She shook the vestiges of depression off, weaving a cushion of air to gently turn his face to her. He was hesitant to raise his eyes, but eventually, slowly, he met her gaze. The two of them stayed locked motionless, across the room and yet so very close. "We will make it work, between us," she promised. "We will save them as we should have saved the others."

It took a minute, but eventually Thom nodded. "I believe you," he said, shuddering as he let out his breath. "After all, the world is still here without the Dragon Reborn, so we should do something with our time. I suppose the Pattern has a plan for even this."

As if his answer was the final tumbler falling loose in a complex lock she was struck with a notion. It was too faint to give her courage, not without some other proof, but the idea stuck with her. She rose quickly from her seat. "Thomdril Merrilin, you are an unknowing genius. I need to pack, and quickly."

He rose from his seat, swirling his cloak around him. "Where are we going?"

She shook her head, turning to the borrowed jewelry box and reaching for her kesiera. "Not 'we' this time. I must go alone for this. You were right that we need to watch Egwene and Perrin, so I implore you to do so in my stead. I will return as soon as I am able." The pendant fastened securely in place, she raised a finger to stem his protests. "You must stay. Please. Look after them, and guide them as you can."

Thom wore a grimace, but he nodded. "I will stay for them, but only because you ask it of me. Egwene will need my help the most, and I already have someone in place to watch Perrin."

"Good." Her mind was ablaze with activity now, and she snatched at a nearby quill. Writing as hastily as she dared she scrawled out a missive, holding it up and drying it with a deft balance of Air and Fire. "Take this directly to the Keeper of the Chronicles, please, and ensure that it goes to the Amyrlin Seat. With the Light willing, it will cross her desk only after I am gone from Tar Valon." She reached for her own cloak and walking stick, fastening it as she reached for the doorknob.

Thom stood baffled by his chair, holding her note but barely in his hand. "Moiraine, what are you looking for? What do you suddenly think you can find?"

Even before she spoke the word, even knowing that her chances of finding what she sought were less than her chance of catching an Aiel in the deserts past the Spine of the World, she could still feel the glow it gave her, the strength long absent from her. She had been given purpose again, and this wonderful man was an unknowing agent of her revived zeal. Perhaps the Wheel weaved as it willed, but maybe that was not always a bad thing. Impulsively she crossed the distance between them and kissed his cheek, looking into his eyes. "Hope," she gave, reveling in the new drive she felt as she left her quarters yet again.

As she arrived at the stables she gave one last look to the White Tower, saddling Aldieb with haste. _The Light be with you, Thom_ , she thought. _The Light be with us all._ Leading her mare through a gate separating Tower grounds from the rest of the city she melded into the bustling of the main thoroughfares, using the cover of noonday traffic to slip out of one of the great bronze gates and cross the bridge of _cuendillar_. Then, as Aldieb's hoofs touch the soil past the manicured boundaries of the city, she flew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And by messing around with the dongles on this website I suddenly realized I've been posting all wrong! Now to go clean things up...
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> -EJT


	8. Chapter 7: Staunch

Elayne felt like a reprobate, shirking as she was from her afternoon studies while poor Egwene toiled away; but it was on her behalf that she shirked, because the Light knew it had been too long since Egwene had taken a break from anything, especially since taking on her extra tutoring with Else. She sat uncomfortably exposed on one of the benches surrounding the Warders' training yard, doing her best to at once remain regal in posture and shrink out of notice. The note she had received had sounded urgent, yet gave her more faith that she may yet be able to help her friend than any method she had yet tried. She wanted to believe it would work, anyway.

The yard was filled with the incessant sounds of wood striking wood as the aspiring Warders-to-be practiced forms and sparred with each other. They practiced until their tunics were soaked in sweat and sometimes until bruises showed their first unhealthy colors, all the while under the tutelage of the Blademaster or one of the other Warders. Aes Sedai often frequented the paths surrounding the yard on some errand of the Tower's or other, but Elayne suspected that some were merely gauging the recruits that continued through the rigorous demands placed on them. She knew there was always a sizeable contingent of Aes Sedai that just happened to pass when her half-brother Galad practiced with the Master of Arms – and, for that matter, a number of Accepted, novices, serving girls, visiting royalty, and ladies-in-waiting. It made her sick to think of them gathered in a knot of people, like so many birds waiting for a chance to devour a fat worm dangling from the ground. Thankfully the threat of rain served to keep most passersby confined to indoor pursuits, and she was the only person in attendance that wasn't drilling on the grass.

She sat patiently waiting for Gawyn to finish his own lesson with a Warder that was less a man in size than he was a living mountain. The two of them sparred across their small patch with ferocity; and while Elayne was no expert in the sword and found it a safe assumption that her brother was nowhere near the Warder's level of expertise, there were still a few fleeting moments when it seemed the older man was quicker to go on the defensive before his resurgence. Compared to the other hopefuls, Gawyn and his instructor danced – though Gawyn was still sluggish and reactionary compared to the Warder's fluid grace – and they seemed to continue that dance long after the others would have been engaged in third or even fourth bouts. Eventually the Warder caught Gawyn on his knee, and she heard him cry out. Immediately the duel was concluded, and the Warden straightened. "Not bad," the older man complimented, breathing lightly, "but that was a poor choice of form in response. You're getting better, though. See if you can find some advice in the writings of Miyasa the Lesser before our next session."

Her brother took a minute to catch his breath before responding. "Yes, sir." Holding his training blade in his hands as if it were sharpened steel he bowed respectfully to his mentor before heading toward her bench. He nearly flopped on its surface, taking in a heavy breath to calm himself. "I don't think I'll ever best Hammar in combat."

Elayne wrinkled her nose, doing her best not to make a face at the miasma of sweat that followed him. "With a stench like that, I should think you would be slaying Shadowspawn by the dozens."

Gawyn let out a windless laugh, clutching his side. "Please don't crack jokes; everything still hurts." He sat until his breathing came calmly, then swept his locks out from in front of his face. "I take it you're here about a note from Master Merrilin as well. I've never known you to come out to the practice fields before I've had a chance to freshen up."

Elayne nodded. "It's about one of the other novices. She was with him the night when…the night that changed everything. I think there's something she's not telling us, and she's pushing herself too hard to be healthy. Thom's concerned too, and I think he has a plan for us to help her."

Gawyn blinked, then shrugged. "What can I do? She hardly knows me, and she certainly knows you better from the sound of it. I'm honestly surprised Master Merrilin reached out to me at all; I barely remember him from when we were young."

A hand fell on her shoulder, encouraging her to stand as a familiar voice spoke out. "Then what say you to making up for lost time, Gawyn? Walk with me, and let's see if we can't find a way to help young Egwene."

Elayne's spirits rose as she heard Thom's voice. She couldn't explain why, but seeing him always made her day brighten. "Thom, it's so good to see you. But what do think the two of us can do about it?"

Thom shook his head. "Not here, child. Somewhere safe to talk." With a swirl of his cloak he strode onward along the path, and Elayne and Gawyn were both hard-pressed to keep up with him.

As she fell behind the gleeman Elayne leaned over to Gawyn. "Remember what Lini said about walking," she murmured to him.

Gawyn cradled his practice blade underneath one arm, scoffing. "Lini said so many things to us it's hard to keep track of it all," he replied. "I wonder how many of her sayings were made up as we grew older."

"'Walk with purpose or be sidetracked into tardiness,'" Elayne quoted from memory. "I think it means to look as if you're going somewhere, and no one will think to stop you."

Thom made an irritated gesture. "Some fine advice, but it also helps if you're not explaining it as you're surrounded by those you are trying to fool. Keep going. And be quiet."

They made the rest of their journey in silence, though their path led them through as little of the White Tower as Thom could manage and they saw almost no one else. Elayne was surprised when they began straying from the Tower, and grew increasingly alarmed as they drew away from Tower grounds entirely; but, trusting Thom, she carried onward with Gawyn at her side.

As the manicured path connected to Tar Valon proper the press of the crowd grew tight enough that the three of them had to condense into a more compact unit. Elayne stayed as close to Thom's well-worn cloak as she could, not wanting to get lost in the throng as he led them through street after street away from the grounds she knew as familiar. After more turns than she could count Thom led them to a road that seemed to focus on woven goods, full of dyers and seamstresses and embroiderers all trying to outdo each other by advertising their wares. It was all so very different from what Elayne had known growing up; her mother had always sent for court-appointed artisans to take care of the growing needs of the Trakand household. Being out on the open street, having peddlers fight over them almost like starving dogs over a scrap of meat, shook her more than she cared to admit; and while it was an exhilarating change she still found herself nearly clinging to Thom's cloak for safety.

Thom ambled from establishment to establishment, perusing the wares and speaking animatedly with the merchants as she and Gawyn trailed not far behind. She could see the way he rested his hand on the practice blade he still carried, his eyes scanning every movement within his field of vision. Elayne knew it was no more than an exercise – after all, who would actually attack someone inside Tar Valon, of all places? – yet the sight made her happy. She didn't know if she would ever rise to fill her mother's role, but she could not ask for a finer First Prince of the Sword.

They kept walking down the street, errand boys running thither and yon and Thom showing none of the cagey haste from earlier. Elayne was about to ask what they were doing when Thom finally put down the bottles of dye he had been examining. "I had to make sure we wouldn't be overheard by curious ears. Don't look so alarmed, Gawyn; the merchants along this street have been in Moiraine's employ since before you were born. It was the closest destination I could think of affording us some actual privacy. So, what's to be done about Egwene?"

Elayne surprised herself by letting out a huff of frustration. "I'm not sure what can be done. She runs herself ragged into the ground and she doesn't ever seem to sleep. If there's any time left in her day, she fills it with studying and practicing until she's too tired to stand."

A similarly irritated sigh escaped from Thom. "Try as I might, I can neither drag her away from her studies nor bring that village boy into the White Tower to see her – not that I blame him."

She thought it odd that Thom had added that backhanded complaint, given where he had been living for the past few months, but she put off asking questions about it in favor of the matter at hand. "Every time I try to pull her out of her books, she wrenches herself back into them. I don't know that she'll even listen to me at this point."

They walked the alley lost in thought for a time. Thom's brow was furrowed, and Gawyn had an oddly puzzled look on his face. Elayne was positively furious at herself. One day she would be responsible for handling issues that affected the citizens of Caemlyn, of all of Andor, and she couldn't even solve the problem that befell her friend. There had to be something missing, some new angle that could bring Egwene back from the dangerous edge on which she had placed herself.

Gawyn cleared his throat. "What if we just filled more of her time? It sounds like she's content to let herself be isolated, but she must feel some sort of obligation to help others; otherwise she wouldn't have helped that other novice. It stands to reason that we could ask her for help, and draw her out that way."

Elayne considered the proposition. It was not as straightforward and honest a tactic as she would have liked, but perhaps that was the only way forward. The Light knew she could use the extra help that Egwene seemed to push herself through. "I can always join her in her study sessions and exercises," she conceded aloud. "Maybe seeing someone else going through the same push will make her ease up on herself."

Thom grunted an assent. "Perhaps that will provide the shock she needs to turn around. Come to think of it, if I knew what lands or eras of history the two of you were studying I could write some tunes to help you remember the facts. Words are always harder to forget when there's music that goes along with it. If I had enough notice, I might be able to find some pieces from those specific lands to play."

Her brother chuckled. "All good to know, but what does it help them to know how the Tairens sing in a tavern when compared to Shienarans?"

Elayne reached out to her brother's arm in warning, but not before Thom wheeled in place so quickly that his cloak nipped at their shins. "Because music is part of culture, boy, and culture is the lens through which a people see the world. Knowing what folk songs are appreciated and which are grounds for a stoning could be the difference between a welcome with open arms and being thrown out of a tavern. It may not save your life like your fancy swordwork will, but burn me if it's not more comfortable to sleep on a warm cot instead of in a rain-filled ditch." He blew through his mustache and stalked up the street, and Elayne could hear him muttering about how youths underappreciated culture.

Gawyn shot her an incredulous look, motioning toward Thom. She knew it was his wounded pride speaking, but it was far too infrequent that she had actually seen her brother taken down a peg. Besides, she felt that Thom had a point. She inclined her head to the gleeman, a tiny smirk on her face. Gawyn threw his empty hand up in exasperation, shaking his head. The mulish refusal curdled her good humor, and Elayne want to scream in vexation. She loved her brother to a fault, but he could be such an obstinate dunce at times! The Light send that someone cured him of that rare stubborn streak one day. She pointed at Thom emphatically, and though her brother rolled his eyes she silently insisted, glaring at him all the while as they walked. He shot her a sour look, grimacing as he looked forward. "Thom, you may have a point—" Elayne shot him a glare, pinching him so hard she was surprised a welt didn't start forming. Gawyn gritted his teeth and began again. "—you have a point, but I still don't know what I can do to help. It's not like I can practice how to be a better Warder with her."

Elayne cast her eyes around the street once more. "You might not be able to now, but you can always be an extra body at the lunch bell. Tradition says the novices eat alone with other initiates of the Tower, but there's no unbreakable rule about it. Maybe you'll think of something in the coming days. Maybe you can bring Galad along, and Egwene can be impressed by his form just like everyone else."

At her words Gawyn stiffened. "I am not bringing Galad to lunch," he said tersely. The vehemence of his reply didn't stun her, but perhaps she had hit closer to the mark than she should have. Since arriving at the White Tower, it seemed that Gawyn was always pushed aside for the adoration their half-brother received. She knew how hard he worked to prove himself, and how much he must be frustrated by never being seen whenever Galad took to the courtyards.

She was so relieved when Thom chimed in that she actually felt herself flush in embarrassment. "I think it is a fine idea to visit her at lunch, Gawyn. It never hurts to be surrounded by one's peers, and you could bring a different focus to the table. However, I think it wise to leave Galadedrid out of this; I know he is your half-brother, but he attracts too much attention to himself. Attention is not what Egwene needs." He came to a stop at the intersection marking the end of the alley. "So, we have our tasks, then. I trust you know how to return from here?"

Elayne was startled to see that the road in front of them led directly to the entrance of the White Tower. She would have sworn the route Thom had taken them on would have had them nearly outside the city. The gleeman shooed them onward. "I've business in town, so it's best the two of you go on without me. Think of this as an exercise in government." With that he gave a flourish with his cloak and disappeared into the throng of the crowd.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment before allowing their feet to carry them back to the Tower. "'An exercise in government?'" Gawyn asked. "What does he mean by that? Is he talking about the delegation of work?"

Elayne pondered the words. "I don't think so, but I can't see what else it might mean." She rubbed her eyes with her palms as the weight of her task began to sink in. "We need to focus on the important point, in any case. Egwene needs our help."

Gawyn broke off as she neared the entrance hall to return to the other Warder trainees. As she traversed the hallways to her next class, stopping only by her room to pick up quill and parchment for notes, she steeled herself for the ensuing trials. To put on a brave face for a single audience was one thing, but she would be providing cheer and encouragement while taking on more strenuous work than she had ever labored on, while also maintaining her own studies and navigating the intricacies of Aes Sedai politics. If she survived this, she would sleep for a solid day curled up in the Lion Throne, in full view of her mother's court.

The lecture went quickly enough, though her head fair swam with information and her notes looked less like notes and more like a stall floor after a rainstorm. She waited for her thoughts to be collected and for the rush of bodies to the door to conclude, contemplating her next move. The lunch hour would be at its strongest right now, and she knew neither she nor Egwene would immediately have classes. That left Egwene as either studying her notes or practicing with saidar, and Elayne fervently hoped it was the latter – if she was working with the One Power, there were only a handful of practice rooms she as a novice could access, even with an Accepted or Aes Sedai accompanying her; if she was studying for a class, she could be anywhere in the Tower's library.

A few discreet inquiries and directions from a chance encounter with Else – she had actually grinned at Elayne, the first time she had seen a positive emotion from her – steered her toward a room tucked away between three adjoining hallways, and thankfully nowhere near the library. She hadn't yet worked with _saidar_ enough to tell how much of the One Power was being used, or see the threads of weaves unless she concentrated, but she could tell someone was using the One Power inside the room. She waited until the sense of _saidar_ vanished before opening the door, marching in with a practiced calm.

Egwene stood in the center of the space, arms frozen above her and a wide-eyed look of confusion on her face. An unfamiliar Accepted sat in a chair next to the door, dirty blonde hair framing her face and a book open on her lap. Elayne turned to her, bowing low. "Accepted, I wish to train with Egwene as she works with _saidar_."

The Accepted marked her place with her hand, tapping on the open page. "This do be a curious development. Your name do be Elayne Trakand, yes? I did think yourself beyond needing a tutor."

Elayne gave a deferential nod. "It is not in base knowledge, but in technique that I would be asking for her assistance. I know that Egwene's form is nearly flawless, and that she is universally praised for her dedication. With your permission, I would like to watch what she does and emulate it."

Egwene shot her a panicked look that she ignored. It was the Accepted she would have to win over in this proposal, the Accepted who would be overseeing their sessions. The older woman shifted in her chair. "You do be versed enough in your studies to learn more on your own, and I do be capable of watching after the both of you. Very well; so long as you do watch what Egwene do practice first, I do consent."

Again Elayne bowed, feeling no small amount of smug pride in her first victory. "Thank you, Accepted. I will make the most of these periods."

By the time she reached Egwene's side the neutral mask that had become her mainstay had reassembled itself. A brief flash of worry was all that broke the dispassionate attitude before her friend collected herself. "I'll go slowly so you can follow," she said flatly, embracing the One Power. "The weaves themselves are simple and are never cast once you complete them, but they are not the point of the exercise. You could use the same simple weave for an orb of light and still accomplish the goal. That goal is to adapt to embracing and releasing _saidar_ as quickly as possible." As she gave her explanation, Egwene ran through the motions of what she had just described; and though Elayne knew she was slowing down for her benefit she still marveled at the speed with which Egwene formed her weaves. "Once you have completed ten of them, string together as many weaves as you can as rapidly as you can form them. Again, the goal is accuracy and speed. I think it's a good idea to change the order of the weaves to keep from relying on any set pattern." This time the weaves came with such swiftness that Elayne couldn't discern one from another, and she was surprised the Accepted didn't praise her on the spot for what she had accomplished.

The weaves dissipated, the sense of the One Power retreated, and Egwene reverted to her neutral state, hands crossed over her novice whites. Elayne gritted her teeth, doing her best to work through the sudden spell of indecision that had come over her. It was a daunting task before her, that much was certain; but she had made up her mind that she would help Egwene, no matter what was required of her. She made her mind as free of distraction as she could manage and reached for the source.

It was always wonderful, to reach for the embrace of _saidar_. At its touch the world brightened into unexpected vibrancy, and she still felt a childlike awe each time the inexplicable warmth of the One Power enveloped her. With as much haste as she could muster she prepared the weave to harden air, feeling anew the joy that always went with channeling. She caressed the threads into place, shaping them into holding just so until the weave seemed to sing in a note she felt more than heard, until its peal resonated with _saidar_ ; then, reluctantly, she banished the weave from being and let the One Power fade from her senses. The world seemed to return to muted tones, duller sounds, and she yearned to continue if for no other motive than to feel that ecstatic embrace one more time.

She embraced the source once more when Egwene clicked her tongue, the closest thing to a grimace her face could muster showing. "You're not bad for just starting out, but the release has to be faster. You can't linger on any one step."

Elayne opened her mouth to respond and was taken aback by her friend's enervated features. She looked so tired. How hard was she driving herself, that those bags underneath her eyes were so pronounced? When had she begun jumping ever so slightly at each new sound? She forced herself to carry on as if naught was amiss. "I'll try, but it's so hard to let go. You know how tempting holding the One Power is."

Egwene shrugged. "I remember how tempting it used to be. Now, it simply is. Come on. Let's go again, and I'll work with you until you feel comfortable going faster."

Her words disconcerted Elayne so much that she nearly called an end to the whole affair. She had heard Aes Sedai, veteran sisters of the shawl with more years of life than three of hers put together, who still spoke of embracing _saidar_ with rapt delight. This wound Egwene suffered, whatever dreadful torment it must be that still plagued her, ran too deep. She had to find a way to cure it, or her friend would bleed herself to death. But she could think of nothing more to do until something more gave; until then, she would have to stay as close to her as possible to find out what it was.

With a mental snarl of frustration she fell into the routine that Egwene described. She would find a way to aid her friend, of that she could have no doubt. Embrace, weave; then release. There would be many more meetings with Thom and Gawyn in the meantime. Embrace, weave; then release. The Light send that they would find something before it was too late.

•

A timid knock on the door to her study interrupted Verin's train of thought. She set down her quill with a disappointed toss. A pity; she had been on the verge of a breakthrough in linking Pertois the Short's success in unifying Cairhienin into a larger body by way of political propaganda, and possibly inventing Daes Dae'mar in the process. Such a shame that it would have to wait. She scattered pounce on her notes to help them dry and returned the quill to its rightful place. "Enter," she called out.

There was a beat of rest before the handle was tried – several times, each one unsuccessful. Only that sorry babe of a novice could be responsible, the Else girl that she was indirectly tutoring. She sighed, weaving a few strands of Air around the unlocked mechanism until it opened readily at the next try. The girl nearly fell on her own face, and it was only through timely intervention of another weave of Air that the books she was carrying weren't littered around the floor. She stowed her irritation away, focusing on the interloper. "You will have to take care with those books, child. They are unique creations all, and their delicate spines would not survive a tumble on hard stone floors like your head would."

Else huffed with effort as she carefully placed the stack on a nearby table. "I'm s-sorry, Verin Sedai," she babbled. "I know you gave the books to Egwene to help me and they really must be precious for you to trust her with them, but she had extra lessons and I was able to return them before I go back, so it—"

"Yes, yes, and I am sure you struck a lasting peace between Tear and Illian while you were at it." She retracted the barbs as soon as they had been bared, focusing on the honey that would win the girl over. It was true that all tools had their uses, but blood and ashes did this one like to prattle on about nothing! "At the very least are you able to use the extra resources to your advantage? I would hate to hear that the extra effort was being wasted."

The girl opened her mouth to discourse on the topic – though it was less discourse and more half-controlled jumbles made of stammers and exclamations – and it was all Verin could do to nod at the appropriate times, with her happily in tow helping her carry books back to their rightful homes. The child didn't even possess the tact to recognize the overt insult that had been thrust in her face, so happy was she to natter on about her hero. In the end it was inconsequential; she would be useful regardless of her actual competency.

Mid-babble Else cried out in pain, dropping the volume in her hands. Verin caught it with speed belying her size, setting it on the shelf next to them. "Dear girl, what is it? Did your hand cramp?"

The blonde shook her head. "No, V-Verin Sedai. My hand was cut on something, and now it's bleeding."

Verin tutted. "What a pity; I do hope no blood is left on the spine. It's possible that there may have been some bone fragments jutting out." It was possible, but unlikely; she had personally removed the bone fragments herself when she restored the cover last year. She held out her hands. "Let me see the wound. I may not be a Yellow, but I've some skill in Healing."

The hand was offered readily. Verin took satisfaction in it; for not having clearly seen the palm, she had still managed to avoid anything that would actually cause permanent damage in the future. The wound may scar, but no woman went through life without a few scars to show for the journey. As she Delved to learn the extent of the injury she turned the conversation back around to Egwene, laying the groundwork for subtler weaves. Though what she worked could never truly be called Compulsion in the strictest sense, and though she didn't think she could directly order anyone to act against their will as the stories described from the Age of Legends, it served her purpose more often than not. She occasionally glanced at the girl, and when her words were accompanied by a glassy-eyed stare she knew the weave had enough traction for her to truly begin.

"Egwene sounds like a very fine young woman," Verin commented, slowly encircling the weaves as she Healed.

The child nodded in affirmation slowly. "Yes. Egwene is a wonderful tutor and the best person I know. I want to be just like her."

"Of course you do." Ever so slightly tighter, not enough for her to feel them yet. "But it strikes me that she seems to be very sad recently. Do you know anything about that?"

This time a shake of the head. "No. I think there's something that's bothering her, but she wouldn't tell me about it even if I asked. She won't even tell Elayne, and she's her best friend and a princess!"

A direct nudge this time to keep the child on track, coinciding with the first steps of the Healing. "Egwene must be under an awful lot of pressure. She might not know how to cope with the stress."

The girl's doe-eyed expression became wider. "Maybe it's something to do with the night all the landscars appeared! Everyone knows she was there when it happened, so maybe she has nightmares about it. I know I would have nightmares about something like that."

Verin worked to keep a calm face. She did not think the girl would remember any details about their meeting, but it always paid to be certain. That Egwene would have dreams to contend with, that they may be the source of her unhealthy drive in her studies, had never occurred to her; and yet this unwitting novice had plucked that crucial detail from the thrall of stupor. She would have to research into the possibility; for now, there was a loose end to take care of. The last of the weaves was set in place, in tandem with the Healing as her hand closed back together. "You should tell me anything you hear about Egwene. We can't have her falling apart on us. That would be most sad."

"That would be most sad," Else parroted back at her. "I need to make sure she's going to be okay." As Verin released the last of the weaves she inspected her hand. "There's barely a scar!" she exclaimed. "Oh, thank you so much, Verin Sedai!"

"The best weaves are those that leave barely any sign they were there," she answered sagely. "Now, run along to your next lesson; we shan't have you slack from convenience."

The last vestiges of the weave's influence must have faded, for the stammer returned in the child's voice. "O-of course, Verin Sedai. I'll j-just show myself out." With a swift curtsy she sped for the door, and Verin was surprised she didn't run into it in her reckless dash.

She sank to one of her chairs, tapping the side of her cheek with an idle finger. Egwene was doing herself no favors with her current behavior, and if she was to make use of her this unsound manner in which she was conducting her life must come to an end. Perhaps there was something more to this notion about her dreams that merited further investigation. She had a nagging sensation she had seen the answer somewhere before, but for the life of her she could not rightly recall where or what it had been.

Verin rubbed her temples in exacerbation. This was why manuscripts and history were so much more pleasant than living people. If one didn't like a fact in a text, one could always reword it in their favor; humans were so much messier to deal with. Perhaps that was why she abstained from visiting the Cairhien Royal Library, even though it was second in status only to the Tower itself. As if the diatribe forced yet another epiphany on her she struck her forehead. The writings on Petrois the Short! She couldn't well leave those alone, not when she was so close to her revelation. She ambled back to her desk, picking up her quill in earnest and bending back over her tomes to continue writing, the only break in the perfect silence the occasional scratch of the nib on parchment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, it's the characters like Siuan with her imaginative swearing, and the devious ones like Verin, that make writing something like this so gosh darned fun! Every time I come back to them, it's always a joy.
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> -EJT


	9. Chapter 8: The Price of Knowledge

With a deft weaving of Air Siuan stretched a blanket underneath the contents of her desk. She barely paid attention as the many papers and trappings of her station were directed to rest in a corner of her study, rifling through her many maps until she found one portraying the Westlands and as much as was known about the Blight and the Aiel Waste – though it came with a grimace as she looked at the date, the parchment itself being nearly thirty years old; she made a mental note to dispatch a contingent of Brown sisters to verify the boundaries and correct lingering mistakes; Kandor and Arafel had both been pushed farther back, and Shienar was shown as still extending to the bones of old Malkier – and weighed it down on the newly cleared space with paperweights from one of her drawers. Shaking her head to clear away the fog of tiredness she procured a series of markers, bending her head over the flat surface to match what had come back to her.

The reports coming back from the Blue network were in all sorts of shambles. She had hoped to drum up support from the Hall of the Tower by selectively reading from her reports, but by any account what her informants had heard was disconcerting at best and chilling at worst. Trolloc raids had become fewer and farther between, and those that had been carried out spoke to animalistic butchery not seen even in their wildest rages. Whole villages wiped off the map, mostly trading posts rich in raw materials, their people slaughtered or taken away. What few scouting parties returned confirmed the tidings, reporting mass movements by Fists that had not been seen working together since the Trolloc Wars. There were a few Kandori accounts that told of whispers from the one landscar stretching into their lands, but she dismissed that as paranoia born from worry; no other country had seen anything strange from their own landscars, save the dreadful night they had appeared on the world.

She stepped back to survey her handiwork, and grimaced at the sight before her. Even if the reports were only half-true, the scene would still be fuel for nightmares. More Trollocs gathered along the Borderlands than had been seen in generations, poised to smash into them with the barest of warnings. The only country that stood with relatively weak forces arrayed against it was Saldaea, and even then her agents warned that there was growing unrest in the south. Of more concern to her was the situation in Ghealdan; the last reports she had received from there had spoken of the rampages dealt by the False Dragon Logain Ablar, and she had not heard a single word from anyone in the months since. She wondered how the Children of the Light were handling the news, sardonically hoping they would take care of the problem for her.

Surveying the map once more Siuan crossed her arms. Silverpike at the bay, and the Light knew how many lionfish by the boats. Her mind kept cycling through possibilities, and in spite of the other distractions in the Westlands it always came back to the front on the Borderlands. Whose support could they count on? Which rulers would they have to persuade? What would have to be done to prepare for the hammer that would eventually fall? From whose coffers would the cost of transport be taken the most? In which areas of the Borderlands would the garrisons affect the land most negatively? Where would her she need to move the Aes Sedai to best defend the crucial points of the Borderlands? How many sisters would she need to spare to take care of the problems in Saldaea? How many more to Ghealdan? She massaged her tired eyes with a sigh, ignoring the urge to sit and rest while she sought answers.

A knock at the entrance to her study made her look back in irritation. Reflexively she covered her desk in a weave of Air, obscuring its contents from view. "Enter Leane," she called out, turning to face her door.

Her Keeper stepped through with a graceful bow. "There are two sisters that request an audience with you before your meeting with the Hall, Mother. The first is Elaida, who insists that she see you at the earliest possible convenience."

Siuan bristled at the affront. That woman was a constant tear in her sails at the worst moments! "Did she give a reason for her haste?"

Leane shook her head. "She only asserted that it was a matter of the utmost importance."

"Then until such time as she feels ready to share with us what is so dreadfully important, she may continue to wait until such time as I have completed my other obligations," she gave icily. An audience with the Amyrlin Seat may be requested of any woman, and Aes Sedai did normally have more opportunity to speak with her, but that did not mean they would be given out like sweets at a Sunday celebration. "Who is the second sister?"

"Moiraine."

If she had felt cold before her blood threatened to boil now. Moiraine dared to show her face after her absence, in the heart of the White Tower? Siuan didn't know whether to laugh or screech in frustration from the turn of the day's events. "Send her in immediately," she ordered.

She returned to her desk, dispelling her weave. The note that had been delivered to her on the day she had disappeared was cryptic at best; it had only hinted at broad interpretations glossing over finer points of the Karaethon Cycle, that she had left to discuss her theories with those who knew the Cycle better than her. It had been maddeningly unclear when she had first read it, and the second time, and the tenth, and she certainly hoped that Moiraine had more to offer than platitudes to explain herself.

A commotion in the anteroom beyond drew her attention away once more, and she had just tied the obscuring weave off around her desk once more before the door to her study burst open. Elaida do Avriny a'Roihan strode through with confidence befitting a blademaster surrounded by farmers and just enough deference required for the office of the Amyrlin Seat. She bowed with a great flourish. "Mother. I must speak with you on a matter of some urgency."

Siuan built herself up to stand as tall as she could, every inch filling the weight of the stole of office and every hair bristling with the One Power. "No you must not, daughter. What you _must_ do is listen to my Keeper when she gives you instruction. I believe my thoughts on the matter were made quite clear."

Elaida bowed even lower, a touch of genuine humility in the gesture. "Mother, please. If I could just have a moment to explain, you will see why I had to—"

A thick stopper of Air held her words in. Elaida tried to work around the gag, but nothing she could do would clear her mouth. Siuan put a touch of Power behind her words, her irritation barely contained. "Listen well, child, for you forget to whom you speak. If I tell you to sit, you shall wait until I call for you. If I tell you to be silent, you will do so obediently and without question. If I tell you to count every single grain of sand in the Aiel Waste, I expect you to bring back a detailed analysis on the size, weight, color, and consistency of what you find. What you shall never do again is override my authority merely because you feel your cause to be of import. I will not repeat myself, for unless you are a fool as well as a child I needn't spell out anything I say twice. Now you will remove yourself from my study and await me in the Hall of the Tower, and if I should choose to receive you afterward we will speak then."

She could see the conflict in Elaida's eyes: frustration, disbelief, determination, a hint of aggravation bordering on hatred. Siuan met her measure for measure, giving no ground; Elaida's was not the most stubborn will she had come across, though it may yet be the most insolent, and in her experience it was always best to stay the course until that course was free of flotsam in its way. Eventually, though the silence lengthened, Elaida gave in, stalking out of the Amyrlin's Study irritated. The two women left in her wake remained silent, Leane in a stunned hush, Moiraine a collected calm. Siuan let out an exasperated huff, pointing to the second woman. "Do not for an instant believe I have let your own transgressions go unnoticed, Moiraine," she barked, voice still enhanced by _saidar_. "Enter, and explain yourself."

Moiraine rose slowly, curtsying elegantly. "Good day to you, Mother."

"Spare me the indignation! My patience for your antics grows thin, and I tire of not knowing what you do in the name of the White Tower."

Her friend stepped forward into the study, closing the door behind her. "I bring news that could change our understanding of the coming months, if I could have but a minute to explain myself."

Siuan shot her a glare, looming over her desk. "Take care, daughter. You sound entirely too much like Elaida, and that curries no good will with me at the moment."

"It is possible that the Dragon may yet be Reborn within this cycle."

If there were jumping minnows surrounding her she would have a school of them in her mouth. She did not know whether to feel elated or terrified, so conflicted were her emotions on the news. The shock startled her out of the embrace of the One Power, and she dropped to her chair. "That can't be," she murmured.

Moiraine came to stand at her desk, hands held together. "Normally, yes – though there are no records of an Age where the Dragon at the height of his power was taken or slain by the Shadow, most philosophers are of the conviction that there would be some world-changing event leading to a new Age; I realize that this is a topic where we must rely on conjecture and theory, but theory has a strange history of being based on some small grain of truth – but what if the Dragon had not had time to become what he should be? We know that he is reborn what the Pattern demands a Dragon, and that the Dragon then meets the needs of the Pattern. What we have seen in the past months was an example where only part of that cycle was completed. The Pattern called for him, and before his thread was fully woven back into the fabric it was cut. Not a single part of the Karaethon Cycle was fulfilled, nor was there any sign of his ta'veren nature at work; and yet, the Pattern still demands a Dragon. Therefore by that logic, if we still remain at the cusp of change in this Age and Tarmon Gai'don has not yet scoured the earth—"

"Then the Dragon may yet ride again on the winds of time," she finished. She leaned back into her chair, steepling her fingers. The theory was sound enough, but was it too neat? Was it too much what she wanted to hear, in disregard of evidence to the contrary? Restraining herself she looked up to Moiraine. "How did you come by this theory of yours?"

"The seeds were sown by Master Merrilin on the day after the Yellows released me from their care. I hastened to look into the matter with two other sisters, Vandene and Adeleas – both long since removed from the world, and both more than kind enough to share everything they knew on the Karaethon Cycle. Through the accounts and interpretations they had gathered over the years, I sifted until I found a few passages dating from as close to the Breaking as one could find outside the Tower."

"A search which could not be conducted within the Tower Library itself without drawing attention to the matter," Siuan mused. One day she hoped to see a White Tower where politics did not turn mundane tasks into dangerous ventures; this business of sailing about in an evening fog without knowing what shapes were real tired her. "I understand what you did, even if I can't condone it. Did you find enough to support this feeling of yours?"

Moiraine shook her head. "At most, I found hearsay. There have thankfully been no accounts of the Dragon being struck down before his appointed time."

Siuan let out a neutral grunt. It would have been so very nice to have concrete information for once. Why couldn't prophecies be straightforward in their information? She rested her hands on her desk, feeling the parchment underneath. That she would find an impending Trolloc invasion no more important than pilot fish would have had her laughing a mere hour ago. "It would be nice to have someone who was sensitive to the Pattern's changes to know if the Dragon was Reborn," she muttered. "There hasn't been a real Dreamer in centuries, and we haven't had anyone with a strong Foretelling talent outside of Elaida."

Her words hung in the air, the two of them staring at each other as realization dawned. She leapt to her feet, her mind whirling at top speed, and as one the pair of them sped for the door. "Leane! The Hall, now!" she yelled, desperately trying to calm her nerves. What was the great secret Elaida had been trying to share with her?

Leane scrambled to her feet, only just grabbing her shawl marking her as Keeper as she raced to stay in front of her; but as quick as her pace was, Siuan kept pushing her until they were at an almost undignified pace. She hoped, she prayed fervently that this was simply jumping at shadows, but she could not dispel the knot that had wormed its way into the pit of her stomach.

They arrived at the Hall in record time. Leane barely had time to clear her throat and begin with the first "She comes," before Siuan stood in the presence of her Sitters. She waited for a breath until the announcement was done before marching across the colored tiles to Elaida's chair, surrounded though she was by the other Red Sitters and some Gray Sitters. "Daughter, I would speak with you in private before we begin the meeting."

Elaida gave a knowing glance to her compatriots before rising, the hint of a smirk in her features. "Of course, Mother." Siuan wished she had the energy to spare berating the other Sitters, such grins they had on their face. But the safety of the White Tower and the world came first.

Siuan led her to the edge of the Hall, only just out of earshot of the nearest chairs, whereupon she whipped around to face her. "Tell me true what you came to speak with me about," she demanded. "Did you have a Foretelling today? Was there something you have Foreseen?"

Elaida blinked at the ferocity behind her words, shaking her dark hair back into place. "Yes, Mother, though it was early yesterday morn. It was of the False Dragon, spreading discord and strife in Saldaea and Tear and leading the lands to war upon war. I was hoping to ask your blessing to lead my sisters in gentling him."

Relief surged through her, and were it not for the presence of so many others she would have wept with joy. The narrows had been avoided, and she was just jumping at shapes in the fog. She turned to Moiraine, still waiting in the hallway, and motioned her away. The sister simply bowed in reply, yet Siuan could well imagine the liberation she felt. "We will speak of the False Dragon and what must be done with him later," she replied, mentally preparing herself for the meeting ahead. "For now, the Borderlands must hold our attention."

Elaida's face had gone blank, her eyes completely unfocused. Siuan was on the verge of taking her by the hand and escorting her back to her seat, when her back arched and her head shot upward. All thoughts of her reports and sparring with the Hall fled from her mind as she looked on in horror. As Elaida opened her mouth Siuan fought the urge to cry out, for buried memories twenty years dead had risen up to haunt the world once more.

"The Dragon walks again," she intoned, her voice hushing all other conversations. "The Dragon walks again and is Reborn, and the fires of Dragonmount burn bright this day! A voice of three storms shakes the earth, and the Light that now burns will overtake the world once more! The winds of Tarmon Gai'don roar at the power, and the mighty shall be made meek before deliverance from the Lord of the Dark is at hand! The Dragon is Reborn again, and shall cut down the Shadow's minions like grass, and shall hide in plain obscurity for all to see and know. This have I Foreseen!"

It was only by instinct that Siuan reached out to catch Elaida's body before it struck the tile – for though she knew it to be a corpse as Gitara had become after her Foretelling, though she had held numerous disagreements with Elaida over the course of their lives, it was still one of her sisters; she would not see it strike the tiles and lie in disgrace, no matter what her misgivings with the woman had been. With care she lowered her down as reverently as she could with her awkward hold. "Rest now, sister," she whispered, "and may the Light send you through these days as I hope it will deliver us." She brushed the hair from in front of her face, tucking it behind her ears, and smoothed her features so she looked to be at peace.

Then the screaming began.


	10. Chapter 9: Break

The morning had come again. Egwene felt it in her bones, though she could not say how she knew. Perhaps enough time spent avoiding her nightly terrors had simply engrained it into her senses, that regardless of when she slept this was the time to rise. Still, the late night she had spent tutoring Else, and the extra practice with Elayne after that, meant that she had gone to bed even later than was her own wont. When had her eyes starting feeling so heavy all the time? She wanted nothing more than to lie back down and rest.

"oh yes! come back to bed and let us play with you!"

The high-pitched chittering came from everywhere. Egwene bolted upright, clutching her blankets to her. She had been so careful! How had she allowed herself too much rest? Was she letting Elayne's influence get to her? She frantically scanned the small space for those creatures, gauging the distance to the hallway and wondering if she could make it before they found her.

"it thinks we don't know where it is," the monotonous voice continued. "we always know where it is. we know where it likes to hide from us."

Her door burst open from some unseen force, slamming against the stone. She fought to keep her breathing even, searching with her free hand for the paring knife she had stolen away from the kitchen – though how the Mistress of the Kitchens hadn't noticed the discrepancy, she still had no idea. When she found the space underneath her pillow empty she panicked, daring to look away from the door in her efforts to find it.

"what is it looking for?" the high-pitched one asked mockingly. "does it want to play with us now? this one does love to play games!"

"it doesn't look like it's playing. it looks like a scared rabbit."

"let it be a scared rabbit! maybe we can roast it over a flame and skin it!"

Their unnatural laughter grew until she was certain they were about to overtake her. She desperately reached for the One Power only to find her efforts in vain, its calming embrace denied her. She tried again and again, each time failing, each time growing more hysterical. Those things were coming, and she had no defense! She lurched forward to pull herself from the bed, but to no avail; the blankets she had been clinging to had constricted around her, tying her to the heavier frame, and her sleep-deprived body had no strength to struggle against it. She fell back to the mattress, sides heaving, desperately hoping this was still a dream.

One of the shadowy things crawled into view, scurrying along the ceiling as if gravity had no hold on it. It cocked its too-pale face to one side, unhealthy strands of hair wavering from the motion. "it struggles so much, but it doesn't fight," the droning one observed. "curious that it would fight for the other one, and not itself."

Fingers suddenly latched onto her, pinning her to the bed. Even the skin itself – she hoped it was skin, and not something more insidious – clung to her as if it sought to devour her, as if it were covered in pond leeches made of shadow. Egwene yelped in alarm, her energy being sapped by the thing's touch. It was as if she had been a water skein, and the simple contact had ripped gashes in the sides. "maybe we can find out by taking it apart, piece by piece," the one closest to her burbled next to her head. "it seems so determined to fall and shatter, just like this one thought it would."

"it won't even speak for itself, but we don't need it to anymore. we know its name." The shadow-man on the ceiling crawled around to the wall closest to her, that wicked smile on its face as it tugged at the filaments of darkness that seemed to thread through the entire Tower. As it crawled toward her she noticed its empty eye sockets had been replaced, though the orbs inside had the cloudy pallor of a corpse's stare. For the first time since they had haunted her, the monotone picked up a melodious quality. "eeeeeegweeeeeene," it sang, cruel plots spinning in its dead eyes. "what a name. this one shall feast well on it."

"egwene!" the second one repeated, whispering into her ear. She bucked, trying to shake its vile hands off, but she had no more strength left; all she accomplished was a terrified spasm, heart beating ever faster as the dark figures crawled closer.

The one on the wall reached out to her, its fingers pulling more of the dark strings toward her. It sang in chorus with its twin as it moved in closer, the musical tone somehow more frightening than its original deadpan. "egwene!"

"egwene!"

"egwene!"

"Egwene!"

The creatures continued their chant as they spun, the one encircling her head and throat while the other held her down. She tried once more to buck, but managed little more than a squirm. High-pitched laughter mocked her, and then they resumed their ensnaring ritual.

"egwene!"

"egwene!"

"egwene!"

" _Egwene!_ "

She screwed her eyes shut, shuddering at the imagined fate that awaited her. If she was to die, she hoped these creatures would make quick work of it. Light, why did they have to torment her so before?

"egwene!"

"egwene!"

"egwene!"

"egwene!"

"egwene!"

" _EGWENE!_ "

She convulsed, gasping for air as if she had been submerged underwater. Her blanket covered her face, wrapping around her body like a knitted cocoon, and she writhed to free her hands from her sides. She could almost hear the twisted laughter echoing from the hall. Of a sudden two more hands fell on her, and she shrieked in abject terror. She wrenched her hands free, clawing away at her face like a caged animal. Her eyes had scarce adjusted to the watery illumination of a floating sphere of light when she registered her small room, devoid of lurking monsters, and a mountain of golden-red curls that sped toward her.

"Egwene, it's okay, it's okay! It's okay, Egwene; it's just me. No need to worry. Light, I was worried I wouldn't be able to wake you. You were wrapped up so tightly in your blanket you could have suffocated! You can breathe now. It's alright. You looked like you were having the most terrible dream. By the Light, but you gave me such a scare."

She panted as Elayne's words filtered through her mind, forcing her breathing to calm down; then, with little more warning than a half-controlled hiccup, she burst into tears, burrowing into the other girl's shoulder. She was safe. Her body ached from lack of sleep and she dreaded what would find her in the evening, but for now she was in the waking world again.

As she wept Elayne sat by her side, rubbing her back and speaking in as calm a voice as she had heard from anyone but her own mother. "Now Egwene, you must know by now that you have us all very worried for you. Thom and Gawyn and I, we're all concerned for your wellbeing. Especially when you left in the middle of dinner; I had to practically sit on Gawyn so he wouldn't follow you to your practice room. It doesn't do for you to make us fret so much, nor for you to keep pushing us away. Haven't Thom's little ditties helped with remembering the finer details of the noble Tairen houses? Don't you think Gawyn and I would be sad if something happened to you? Even little Else has been asking if you're alright, and she normally shies away from everyone."

She tried to stop crying, but every word Elayne voiced opened up new floodgates. Of course they all cared for her; it seemed so obvious in hindsight. Gawyn always looked so nervous in the dining hall, but he always came every day. And Elayne didn't need her help with her studies; she knew half the material better than some of the Accepted that helped guide their studies – though she had definitely improved in her grasp of saidar since the first day she had come to work with her. And poor Thom! She had heard his objections and how he bickered with some of the Aes Sedai, saw how uncomfortable he was when he had to leave Moiraine's room, but he was nothing but smiles for her. It was so clear, and she felt like a dunce. She wrapped herself around her friend. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I've been nothing but a woolheaded ninny, and you've been stuck with me."

Elayne stroked her hair, rocking her gently back and forth. "We haven't been stuck with you, silly. We've been supporting you. You have gone through more in the last season than most of us would wish in a lifetime; but you don't need to go through it alone. We are all of us here for you. Don't you dare pull away from me; I don't care how much you cry on this dress, because I have more and my room is right around the corner. You do what you need to, and I will be here for you. There you go. Now, I was going to wake you because Thom told me last night that Perrin is leaving Tar Valon, and I spoke to Sheriam Sedai about being able to walk out to the harbor to see him off. She gave us permission, so long as we're back before our first class. Do you want to see him one last time?"

Egwene was trembling from how much she had cried. She sniffed feebly, her eyes puffy from tears. "I can't," she blubbered. "I haven't seen him in so long; I'm sure he must hate me by now."

She felt Elayne shake her head. "I don't think he hates you, Egwene. Besides, it's the last chance you could have to see him, perhaps forever. Why don't we go and see him off? It's just to Northharbor."

Her thoughts felt like they were wading through molasses poured on fresh snow. She did want to see Perrin, and she needed to beg him for forgiveness. There might not be another chance for her to set things right. Slowly she nodded. "You're right. I should see him." She peeled herself away from Elayne, resting her hand underneath her pillow. Her eyes went wide as she remembered her dream, and for a moment she forgot all else but the search for her pilfered knife. "It's not here," she said dully, raising her pillow above her.

Elayne raised her eyebrow quizzically. "What's not here?"

Egwene patted down the sheets surrounding her, growing more distraught. "The knife!" she exclaimed, looking quickly toward the door. "I…stole a knife from the kitchens, and I kept it under my pillow."

Elayne's eyes grew wide with shock. "But why? And how did you ever escape Laras? She watches the preparations like a hawk! When did you steal it?"

She fluffed her sheets, only partly paying attention. "Last week. There was a novice that burned a loaf of bread and snagged her dress in the oven, so I used the distraction to put the knife in my pocket."

Elayne's look became a concerned stare. "Egwene, I told you that story. You haven't been on kitchen duty in over a month."

She cracked the sheets down irritably. "Yes I have!" she snapped. "I saw the burnt loaf, and the ruined pudding where that Domani girl used salt instead of sugar!"

Her hands were gradually but firmly pried away from the sheets as Elayne stared her dead in the eye. "Egwene, listen to me. Laras removed you from kitchen duty over a month ago when you started acting cross with everyone, and when you started nodding off over the cooking fires. That was right after I started practicing with you, remember?"

Egwene shook her head, fighting the confusion. "No, I…" Was that what had happened? She remembered the event so clearly, with novices shrieking and the more experienced staff rushing over to free the girl before she caught the hem of her skirt on fire. She remembered the knife in her hand, the fear of the forbidden theft, the sense of accomplishment when she made it back to her room without being discovered. Surely she hadn't imagined it, not that vividly. "I was there, and I have the knife to prove it. It must have fallen under the bed."

She leaned forward to check underneath her, and the world shifted in an unexpected direction. Her arms reached out to support she knew was nowhere around and she plummeted toward the ground, her limbs bereft of any power of their own. She could have sworn the laughter was back, echoing through her mind, but it seemed so inconsequential now. As her head neared the stone her thoughts organized into a brief moment of clarity, and she realized that the impact she was about to feel would hurt.

Her vision filled with a red-white light, then there was nothing. A leaden buzz filled her ears, and the side of her head felt oddly warm. There was definitely pain, but it felt removed from her, almost as if she was in the embrace of the One Power. She heard Elayne's muted cries, but they were distant too. A blink, and then she concentrated on Elayne's words.

"…hear me? Egwene! Light preserve, Egwene! Are you alright?!"

She tried blinking once more, the effort titanic for her. Elayne sounded so concerned. "There's no knife," she slurred. "No knife under the bed." Something was wrong with her lips; it wasn't moving properly when she spoke.

The door slammed open, the reverberations rattling her head. "What's all this commotion? Elayne, why are you in someone else's bedroom?" she heard the disembodied voice of Jeaulise challenge. Then, a moment later. "Blood and bloody ashes! Egwene! Egwene, I need you to focus on my voice."

A hand on her, and strangely enough she knew it belonged to Elayne. "Accepted, I-I'm sorry, she just toppled over and I couldn't catch her."

"Don't worry, Elayne; you did nothing wrong. We need to take her to the Yellow Ajah." Now she knew that she must be dreaming; Jeaulise would never be concerned for her. What had happened when she hit her head? "I need you to lift her and hold her as still as possible. Neck injuries are tricky business in the best of situations."

"But Accepted, she's too heavy. I can't lift her—"

"Not with your arms! Use _saidar_! Don't worry about the consequences, unless you want your friend to suffer permanent injury!" Egwene felt herself being lifted slowly up, turning in the air until she faced the ceiling. Her temple felt unusually cold, and the sensation spread to the rest of her face as she rotated. "Egwene, I'm going to Delve you to find the extent of the damage before I try anything more drastic. I need to know what I'm dealing with before I try to Heal it." She worked her mouth, but no sounds came out; slowly, to keep the buzzing from ripping her head apart, she nodded her head. Jeaulise placed two fingers on her forehead, and she felt a bizarre feeling ripple through her body. The Accepted gasped, anxiety plastered on her features. "How long has it been since you last slept, child?"

Egwene shook her head. She must be deep in a dream now, to concoct this strange fantasy. "Tell her there's no knife," she repeated.

"Egwene, focus for me please. When did you last sleep?"

She knew it wasn't appropriate, but a tiny giggle escaped her. "I can't sleep anymore, or they'll get me," she stated matter-of-factly. Didn't she already know that?

Jeaulise bit her lip. "Egwene, I need a number. How long has it been since you slept a full night?"

Egwene cast her mind back. Why was it so hard to think? Her head was so cold. "Since before I came to the Tower," she mumbled, her tongue feeling thick and cumbersome. "The nightmares started then." What did that matter? Light, but she wanted to sleep.

The Accepted nodded grimly, placing her whole hand on Egwene's forehead. An icy shock ran through her body, and she jerked involuntarily as her neck and forehead twinged painfully. The world became red and black, and the buzzing noise became a deafening roar for what felt like a lifetime. She lay on the cushion of Air, grunting in pain and focusing on breathing. It was too much effort to open her eyes now.

As the noise in her ears softened back to a murmur she could discern Jeaulise's voice. "…energy in her body to do it. I need you to link with me in a circle, and we'll have to do it in an unorthodox manner. Open yourself as much as you can to the One Power, and imagine yourself reaching out to me as if you were embracing saidar. Don't be surprised when you feel as if you're channeling. I can guide, but you have to be the one to set the weaves." There was a pause and then she heard Elayne gasp. A part of her wished she could open her eyes to see what was going on; she would have to ask Elayne how to link later. Her whole face felt so cold, she didn't think she would be able to move it again.

A hand on her forehead, then two on her cheek. "Egwene? Egwene, stay with me. Your head has stopped bleeding, but your neck still needs to be Healed. I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt." If she had had the energy she would have laughed hysterically. How could it hurt more than she hurt right now? She tried to tell Jeaulise to go ahead and be done with it, but all her body could muster was a faint whimper. Elayne's hand reached out to her sternum, trembling, and pressed into her.

Pain. So much pain. Her skull was going to split open. Her neck burned hotter than any fire, hotter than forged metal. The sun itself was being forced into her head, and her flesh should be blackened and burned away. It felt like every bone around her head was broken, then vigorously forced back into place. It felt like stampeding cattle trampled over her spine and pulverized it, only to have her body force itself back to its original form. She could feel energy flowing from where Elayne touched her, and it fed into the fire in her skull. There were no words to describe how much pain her body was in. The air in her lungs froze, and she groped wildly about for something, anything to hold onto.

Her hands brushed by an arm and she grabbed it with renewed force, gritting her teeth to keep from yelling. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. She stayed fixed in place for a heartbeat before collapsing, ragged breaths the only thing she could manage. Though she was drained, she felt as if she had more energy now than she had before the fall. Elayne patted her shoulder consolingly. "I'm sorry, Egwene," she apologized. "I know it hurts. I'm sorry."

Jeaulise scoffed. "Sorry? You just saved your friend from a life of invalidity. You should be dancing in celebration! Now come; we need to get her to the Yellow Ajah immediately."

The journey to the Yellow's quarters was blurry. Egwene remembered little of the details save that Jeaulise kept talking to her and Elayne kept apologizing. There was no one else in the halls at that hour, though she only knew that because there had never been much activity at that hour – even the Browns were wont to begin sleeping in the odd twilight that lit the stones. She kept trying to doze off and ignore the still-warm spot on the back of her neck – paradoxically, now that she felt more energetic she was more inclined to sleep – and each time Jeaulise kept inconsiderately waking her back up with the same chatter about how they were almost there. It didn't matter where they were; she just wanted to sleep, even if she would have to contend with her monsters.

Soon after they did arrive at the home of the Yellow Ajah, a fact she attributed to the difference in smell more than anything else. It always smelled of herbs and cleanliness, and it minded her of spring cleaning and Nynaeve. Jeaulise went barreling off farther inward and Elayne floated her at a slower pace behind. Egwene wished that everyone would stop making such a fuss; all she had to deal with were her own dreams, and a little tumble. They shouldn't be upsetting themselves so.

An unfamiliar voice called for Elayne, and she felt the tiny breeze that spoke of them moving forward. It was a commanding voice, and one that she found herself paying attention to in spite of herself. "Right in here. Set her down on this bed. Elayne, there's some willow tea in the room you just came from; drink at least two cups, and then depending on her condition you can come back." Egwene cracked her eyes open; the woman before her possessed a thin build and a round ageless face, but despite her slight frame she exuded control even for an Aes Sedai. The instant Elayne exited the room she paid no more attention to the absence, grabbing an assortment of herbs and tools and ordering Jeaulise about with short commands. Satisfied, she escorted the Accepted out of the room with a firmly shut door behind them, stepping inside and returning to the assorted utensils with absolute focus.

Jeaulise ducked back into the room with her, and Egwene was surprised to hear worry in her voice. "Suana Sedai, please let me help! There's something that's not right with her, and she is uncomfortable with sleeping."

The Aes Sedai she assumed was Suana made her way over to a wash bowl, the outburst not even worth a glance. "I heard you the first time, child, and even a blind man can see how tired you yourself are," she replied curtly. "Go lie down as I instructed you! I assure you that you will be one of the first to hear of Egwene's condition as we learn of it."

Jeaulise must have stepped out not long after, for the next thing Egwene knew she was alone with Suana. She peered at her with the ageless face, lips pursed as she mixed several ingredients together with a practiced eye. "Well, you have put yourself in a right mess. I hope you know now how much trouble everyone had to go through on your behalf, and you had better believe that we two shall have more conversations in the coming days impressing upon you the need for you to take care of yourself. And, for that matter, a need to be more considerate about when accidents befall you; I do not take kindly to being awoken in the middle of the night, no matter the reason. In the meantime, take this; it will help you to get some rest. I understand you have some strange aversion to dreams, so I added something that should keep your mind in a quiet state. It is incredibly potent and can alter the mind in high doses, therefore only the first two cups I make shall include it. Do you comprehend what I am saying?" At Egwene's slow affirmation she tipped the ingredients of her mortar into a nearby cup of water. Egwene felt a flash of _saidar_ and the surface grew misty with steam. "Drink this, while they are still freshly steeping but before the leaves become cooked. Leave none of it behind."

Egwene did as she was told, finishing the concoction in two gulps. She should have gagged at the taste, but the herbs were similar to the ones Nynaeve used to use back in the Two Rivers; in an odd way, it minded her of home. She found her mind wandering, wishing the Wisdom was still alive and pondering what Ajah she would have chosen. "When can I return to my classes?" she asked timidly.

Suana let out a haughty chortle. "Child, you truly do not know what kind of a quagmire you fell into. That head injury is going to keep you in this bed until I or one of the other Yellows say otherwise. Your studies will wait; while you are here, your health shall be the foremost concern to you, and thought of what punishment awaits should you disobey our instruction. Now you are to lie there and sleep until we wake you, or so help me I will ensure you lack the capacity to rise without assistance. There are over two hundred bones in the human body; I can break them with ease. Shall I demonstrate? No? Then we shall see you when you wake."

The Aes Sedai was scarcely gone but a minute before the medicine dragged her body into numbness. Egwene didn't even remember yawning; she was simply immersed in a formless void, without even thoughts to pester her slumber. She knew she was protected here, safe as in the waking world. There would be no fears to plague her while she rested in this place.

Of a sudden she saw a familiar figure in front of her, dressed in humble Two Rivers clothes and anxiously looking about. Then, as if her sudden appearance caught his attention, he turned; and suddenly he was no longer the boy she knew, but a man, regal in appearance and garbed in rich furs and fine silks. His graying hair hung to his shoulders, and the sorrow in his eyes was so great that Egwene almost wept at the sight. On his breast was a strange sign, black and white with a sinuous line separating the two fields. He reached out a hand to her, and he was again another man, this time with short jet-black hair and clad in strange attire the likes of which she had never seen; as he stretched his hand, another man, this one with wild brown hair and clad in scarce more than a loincloth; and again he changed, and faster still again, until he was forms without number and blurred into a single point of light. Then the light twinkled and folded into itself, and she was at the foot of a great and lonely mountain whose peak was cleft with roaring fire. Acrid smoke bellowed from the open mouth, and though the sun stood at its zenith the shadow cast by the mountain stretched far beyond it. The scene was a picturesque example of the idyllic days of summer, yet she knew that unseen and unfelt winds gust about, that they would be the catalyst of change and hope and dread yet unknown to her or the world. And above all else, above the winds and the churning belly of the mountain and the growing darkness, a baby cried its first breaths.

She woke with a start, her head so full of images that she could scarce retain them all. As she raised her hands to massage her temples she noticed the noonday sunlight brightening the room. Memories from earlier in the day began trickling back to her, and she tried to slowly right herself from the bed.

Elayne was by her side in an instant, keeping her down. "Not yet," she chided gently. "We don't want the Aes Sedai growing mad at all of us."

Egwene shook her head. "All of us?" A polite cough drew her attention past Elayne, and she saw Thom and Gawyn occupying nearby chairs. "Oh," she replied, resting her head a moment before struggling back up. "Oh! Elayne, I have to tell you about my dream!"

"I know there was no knife," her friend said with a smile. "Here. We were given strict instructions to have you drink this when you woke."

A new cup was shoved in her face, and she could not work her mouth around it with Elayne there. She drank the contents dutifully, shaking her head when she had downed the medicine. "No, the one I just had! Elayne, Rand is coming back. I don't know how I know it, but I know it's true. Rand is coming back."

The blood drained from Elayne's face, and she hastily set the cup down on the nearby stand. "You can't know that for certain," she whispered.

"Yes, I can," she countered stubbornly. "I don't know how, but I know Rand is coming back. I know it as sure as my own name."

No one spoke. Egwene tried to think up some way to prove that she knew, something more than just her word; but the dream was more than just a dream, more than simple wishes and imagined fancies. Thom was the first to break the silence. "Egwene," he asked deliberately, "are you certain about this? Realize what you are implying by it."

She nodded. "Yes. I am…I am sure." By the Light, why did the medicine have to choose now to start affecting her? "He's coming back."

Gawyn scratched his chin. "I'm sorry, who's coming back and why is it important? Elayne? Elayne, why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

Her traitorous eyes refused to stay open, but she heard Thom continue. "Gawyn, why don't you and Elayne go into the next room to talk? I'll keep watch over her." She heard a quiver of fear in his voice. Egwene didn't know why he should be afraid; after all, she knew what Rand was supposed to have been, but he had always been her best friend. She settled into her sheets. Somewhere out in the world, Rand was coming back. Her last thought was whether she would be able to apologize to him for everything she should have been, and a foolish notion that she might actually be able to have one last Sunday dance with him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> -EJT


	11. Chapter 10: In a Strange Land

It was raining again today. She could hear the fat drops falling on the worn canvas that separated her from the elements, the incessant sound a sign that the rain was at least gentle today. It always seemed like it was raining recently, as if the Pattern had picked the weather intentionally to make life more difficult for her. But this was her life and there were duties to tend to, and they would not be done lazing about.

With a sigh Min rose from her bed to wash the sleep from her face. There was always fresh water to be had, and she felt no remorse wasting some on her appearance if it helped her in the day ahead. She let a wry smile slip as she considered the irony of that thought, that she had actually reached a point in her life where she considered her appearance past having clean clothes. Her face washed, Min slipped into her familiar tunic and breeches; with no frills or lengths of unnecessary fabric, her movement wouldn't be impeded if she had to navigate through rubble or wreckage, and was yet another reason she was glad to dress as she did. The Light send they did not have to crawl through more of either today.

At the entrance flap to her tent she retrieved her walking stick and knotted kerchief, waiting patiently in the corner as she left them last night. She donned the kerchief, pulling it snugly down over her eyes until she could see nothing past it, and fastened her hooded cloak in place; then, with walking stick firmly in hand, she threw the flap open. "Good morning, Jermin," she announced to the guard she knew was standing nearby. "Are they ready for me?"

She heard Jermin chuckle, fidgeting in his leather armor as the rain kept falling. "You know they always are. I've only heard tell of four injuries today and no collapses, so we can be thankful that this day will be short."

Min let out her breath slowly. Only four accidents. If that was all they had to deal with, it would be a good day indeed. She held out her hand, feeling the man's larger one encompass her own. "That we can. I just wish I didn't have to sleep outside while they cleared the buildings; this rainfall is dreary enough without having to sleep in it." As she stepped out into the weather she pulled her hood over her head; it wouldn't keep all of the water off her, but at least she wouldn't be soaked by the time they arrived at the makeshift hospital.

"Oh come now, miss," Jermin protested, raising his voice to carry over a passing troop. "You're not the only soul that's stuck out here in the elements, just the most important one. Where would my lord be if a wall were to fall on you, or if one of the rioting blackguards caught you on the end of their sword?"

She pretended to think on his question. "He would be in the same position he found himself in a month ago: a powerful man given a large task, but with one less resource for his use. And for that matter, one less headache."

Jermin tugged on her hand to steer her around a puddle on the street, the edge lapping against her boots. "You are only a headache because you insist on being one," he replied. "Perhaps you should think of what you provide the people of this city."

Min bowed her head, jabbing at the pavement with her walking stick perhaps with a tad too much vehemence. This was the one point on which she and Jermin truly disagreed, in all their discussions. Jermin saw what she was ordered to do as a service to his fellow Ghealdans; to Min, it was nothing more than a hostage situation, thinly veiled under the guise of work. "I provide nothing for the people of this city," she quipped. "I wish I could, but I don't."

They were silent for a few paces, no noise save their boots displacing the runoff on the streets and the click of wood on stone pavement. Finally Jermin patted the back of her hand. "I would ask the men and women whose sides you have been at," he reminded her quietly. "They had not relaxed since Shadownight, until you helped to put them at ease." Min wanted desperately to argue the point with him, but she held her tongue. Much though she was loathe to admit it, her guard had a point with that facet of the argument.

Shadownight, as the Ghealdans called it, had been a trying night for her – a night of pain, and full of wrongness. The Aes Sedai Moiraine had always said her gift had something to do with the Pattern, and maybe that was so; she only knew that whatever it was that gave her visions had been shaken so much that she could not bear to look at anyone else. It was as if the sight of another person was coarse salt on a raw wound, as if they were at once excruciatingly in focus and not nearly focused enough for her to see them. She still had her visions if she looked at some people, but the combined efforts nauseated her. In any case, there was only one man who demanded readings from her, and thank the Light she saw very little of him nowadays.

Even so, the citizens of Ghealdan had fared worse. She had felt the earth tremble in Baerlon, and there was talk of some great misfortune to the south, but until she made the journey to the capital she had no understanding of how terrible the conditions were. Fields that needed tending were on the verge of falling fallow, two bands of robbers had assaulted them on the highway, and the land that should have run flush next to the road instead disappeared into a cavernous drop six spans across. Careful inquiries revealed that the landscar ran along the road all the way to Jehannah itself, its formation collapsing the royal palace and throwing the country in anarchy. Martial law had been declared, and it was only through agents of the new queen that the city itself had escaped total chaos.

The alien streets of Jehannah were beginning to feel more familiar to Min now, even if she couldn't see them. The path which she and her jailer took surrounded her with the sounds of a city full of life, a city picking itself back up. She could hear deals being struck all around her as Ghealdans hurried back and forth – all at a healthy distance from the two of them, protected as they were by Jermin's confident stride and the sigil emblazoned on his chest of three gold crowns on a field of dark blue. The traders certainly wasted no time in picking up the pieces after the catastrophe. Min hid a relieved smile in the cover of her cowl. She wasn't sure the city would have ever recovered from the shock it had suffered. She still wasn't certain it would be wholly the same.

When their conversation hit a natural lull Min cocked her head to the side. "You know, I think in the end I'm glad you ended up as my jailer."

Jermin winced audibly. "All this time in my company, and you still use that repulsive title? I insist you at least call me an escort, if only for my pride."

Min clicked her tongue. "You insist, yet you don't do anything to merit a better distinction. I think I'll start calling you 'cruel overseer' next."

She heard the man clutch at his breastplate in mock pain. "Such harsh words! You wound me. Perhaps you are less a lady and more a vixen playing at dress-up!"

His words prompted a light slap on his guiding hand. "That sounds quite like something I would expect you to say, you worthless charlatan. Always making accusations."

"Only a painted lady such as yourself would recognize a charlatan like me."

"Only a lecherous cad could know me to be a painted lady."

They continued their game as they strolled, using it as a way to pass the time and relieve the constant pressure. Secretly she was glad to have Jermin attached to her; most of the other soldiers hadn't any tolerance for witticism, and gave her stony silence. Jermin took their situation in stride, matching her measure for measure and proving himself to be a surprisingly trustworthy individual.

She knew straightaway when they arrived at the hospital, because the traffic around them changed from relatively busy to virtually nonexistent. Nobody wanted to visit the hospitals, impermanent though these ones were – they were set up close to the worst of the damage and stayed in use until the infirm recovered or were safe enough to move elsewhere; it was only in the last week that the surgeons had boasted more empty beds than filled – and perhaps that was why Min had visited initially, to avoid people and pass her free time. But she had grown attached to the patients, sitting by their bedsides and listening to their stories. She held their hands while the surgeons worked, sat by their sides as they recounted all-too familiar tales of stones falling free or floors giving out, or the occasional riot that had to be quelled. Maybe it was just a way for her to feel useful in spite of her condition, but what of it? At least it was effective.

"I'm starting to think the hospitals only get set up where people have a natural aversion to go in the first place," Jermin commented as they walked inside. "The hall of the tax collectors, and before that a court room. I'll grant that it's effective, but there is something strange in the choosing."

Min shrugged. "They've all been large and easy to find, and it's not as if they stay for very long once an area is cleared. Everyone in town is going to know where they are, too, so there's no risk of getting lost."

"Yes, but why set up where the tax collectors hang their hats? If I was to see my sister in here, wouldn't it be bad enough to know that she was bleeding out from a gut wound without worrying about my purse being bled dry too?"

She actually found herself giggling. "So you see your sister dying and your first thought is to the taxes you have to pay? Yours is an interesting family indeed."

"Would you please stop being reasonable? You're ruining my perfectly logical nonsense with it."

"If I stopped, what would you have to occupy your time?"

"With you around? Keeping you alive."

They stepped into the main hall, the space surrounding them changing instantly from enclosed to cavernous. She could smell the various herbs used in the poultices and medicines, the space suffused with their sometimes redolent, sometimes pungent fragrances. There was an underlying current of less pleasant odors, but the herbs were present enough to mask the bulk of it. A quiet poignancy lay about as well, though there were no wails or even muted groans to herald its presence. It simply was, prevalent and tireless as the rain that fell outside. She shook her head. So many men and women, and yet this was the least they had held in a moon. "I think I'd begin with keeping them alive," she whispered.

Jermin rubbed her shoulders. "You may not be a doctor, but you keep them alive through other ways. You let them unburden, you let them—"

"I know." She knew he was trying to encourage her, but it dug at her that she could do no more than listen. She patted his hand, softening her words. "I know, Jermin. It's just frustrating that I can't do more for them. We're talking ourselves in circles; let's get going before the morning escapes completely."

Her cloak unclasped quickly and hung in her arms, from which Jermin retrieved it after a hasty thank-you. As she stepped forward into the space, walking stick before her, a collective cheer roused from within. She knew the layout well enough by now, so the walking stick was more a precaution than anything else; nevertheless, she never forgot it in case some ankle-high obstruction would cause her to trip. One of the patients nearest her, a man a few years her senior by the name of Neese, called out first. "There she is, there she is! Our very own blind soothsayer! The boys and I had started a bet to see when you'd show up."

"Not just you boys!" a woman from farther in called out.

Neese chortled goodheartedly, as did several others. "No, there were some women that got in as well. I believe it was even Livina that gets the basket today."

Min turned a beaming smile toward his voice. "Neese, what do you even have to bet with?"

She heard his sheets rustle as he waved his hand. "Just a few of our evening sweets. We've had candied walnuts the past week so it's turned into a game to see who ends up with the most."

"That must make it hard to play cards if everyone's eating the winnings," Jermin called out from behind her.

Neese laughed once more. "No, it just makes the games more competitive."

She turned the conversation toward more serious topics, and fell into her routine. Neese was one of the lucky ones; with only a glancing blow to his head from a plank of wood, he would be out within a week once the stitches were ready to be taken out. He still had family that visited him on a regular basis, and so his was a happier story. Min enjoyed talking with him, hearing his anecdotes and trading stories from home.

Others were less fortunate. Anton had lost a leg when a blood vessel became infected from a much smaller cut and started poisoning him. Livina had her left hand crushed, and would likely never use it again if the bones set improperly. There was even a poor boy whose head had smacked against a stone foundation so hard he had never acted quite right again. His suffering had not been drawn out, thank the Light.

As she finished with her third patient, Jermin waiting patiently beside her and occasionally offering a lighthearted jest, the hallway behind filled with the rapidly approaching tromp of young feet. They halted at the threshold to the much larger space, where Min heard a pair of clog-shod individuals stealthily close the distance from the entrance to her – as stealthily as one could in wooden shoes. She allowed herself a smile as she kept talking, enjoying the game and keeping a weather ear attuned for the out-of-breath gasps, the clopping on the floor tiles. When they were both close enough for her to reach out to them she turned suddenly. "It's very rude to sneak up on someone, you know."

She heard two nearly identical groans, exasperated in the way that only children could pull off. "That's over forty times now, Miss Min!" the younger one complained. "How do you do it?"

"By keeping my ears open and my wits sharp," her practiced response came. "I would think you'd know that by now."

"You say that every time," the older one pointed out. "There must be something else we need to change."

Dassag and his younger brother Horas had invented the game not long after she had come to Jehannah, when they had discovered Min relied more on her hearing than anything else when she was around people. Their father was one of the doctors assigned to this makeshift hospital; and while he kept claiming he wanted to study Min and her condition he would inevitably get called away to some other pressing matter. Min found herself ambivalent on the subject; she didn't want to have a fuss made about her, but at the same time it would likely be better than having an Aes Sedai poking around at her. At least doctors knew when to admit the limits of their knowledge; she wasn't sure she'd be able to make it away from one of those awful women if they ever found out about her.

"What if we crawled over?" Horas asked.

"Tried that," Dassag replied. "It didn't work."

"What about with no shoes?"

"Tried that."

"What about from the other side of the hall?"

"Tried that."

"What about…what about running really fast?"

"Tried that, and that's how you busted your lip open."

Min shook her head. The two of them would be at this for a good hour if they weren't given something else to do. "Livina, do you have any candied walnuts you could spare for two hungry boys?"

Livina tsked. "Of course I do. It'll cut into the winnings, but I suppose their bellies are worth it. I think the bag they came in is still on Roen's table."

"I'll get it!" Horas called out, and before Min had even realized who spoke she felt air rush past her as his small body darted toward the center of the room. Before long he began circling the room, distributing the sweets around the room under Dassag's commandeering assistance. She had trouble from laughing aloud as the two bickered over the proper way to hand them out.

Her guard had no such problems, laughing under his breath. "Between these two jesters and your efforts, it's a wonder these people don't heal from their good humors alone."

"Oh, stop it," she protested, though her heart wasn't behind her words. "I'm just glad they're not scared away by the worst of it all. Most children wouldn't want to spend their days cooped up inside hospitals, makeshift or purposeful."

"Most children don't have the tutelage of a man such as Doctor Ashin encouraging them to help. It's a grand thing, to want to help others." He paused, and she assumed he was watching the show the boys were putting on. "Bah. I'm getting old, so never you mind me. I still think they do a wonderful job at it."

The spectacle in the middle of the room reached a crescendo, followed by raucous laughter. She found herself smiling once more. "Maybe you're right. After all, the world could use more laughter in it."

She felt it almost before she heard it: the onset of hurrying bodies. Reflexively she stood up, extending her arms. "Das, Horas, to me. Quickly." Without argument they joined her, one boy to each side.

No sooner had she pulled the brothers in close to her than the hall was hit by what sounded like a localized stampede. She knew that particular combination all too well from the earliest days of her sojourn to Ghealdan. Runners with a stretcher, fatal condition. At its head she heard the familiar voice of Alin Ashin, giving orders and sounding as if he embodied the nexus of the storm that had just blown in – which, knowing him, he most certainly was. "Right there on the left, there's an empty bed. Set her down easy, lads. Don't let her sway! Keep her level. Tigo, fetch my corenroot draft from my bag. Dene, mix me a compound of healall and dogwort for that gash."

She felt Horas bounce in her arm, and Dassag straightened his posture ever so slightly. "Can we help you with her, father?"

Even without her eyes she could almost see Alin's double take in the walkway, so animated were his responses. "Das and Horas? And by the Light, Miss Min and Jermin! I didn't know that we'd be graced by your patronage again today."

Min bowed slightly. "Doctor Ashin. I felt your patients could use some company, so I visited in the hopes that we would be able to shut this branch down soon. Apparently my hopes were premature.

Alin rubbed his hands together worriedly, his animated tone reflecting his concern. "Yes, yes. Ghastly wound, this one. A servicewoman that was clearing out one of the last houses caught in the landscar's wake. Support beam for a roof fell right on her. It's a clean wound, though, so we can thank the Light for that; if it hadn't been for her plate armor she'd have splinters in her intestines instead of— no, you stonebrained Trolloc, corenroot! Corenroot, not crimsonthorn! We want to get more blood in her, not paralyze her! Anyway, one sharp gash instead of dozens of tiny spears. It'll be rough, but we'll do our best."

Horas piped up again. "Father, please can we help you?"

She felt Dassag reach out to push his younger brother. "He doesn't want our help, Horas!" Then, after a moment's pause, he rubbed his own shoulder. "Though we could get your herbs to you faster than your assistants. And make them properly, too."

Horas giggled, and even though the situation was dire Min found herself smiling at the melodious noise. "Tigo almost gave her crimsonthorn! We'd never make a mistake like that."

Alin huffed as he squatted lower to the ground, no doubt the better to make eye contact with them. "And that marks you as uniquely qualified, to be sure; but this is something I need to do alone, my boys. Perhaps in a few years when you're older. What I want you to do while I work is entertain Miss Min and Jermin. Do you think you can do that?"

She felt them both nod, and Alin clapped his hands once more. "Good! Now go out to the hall and wait for me to be done." He stood up and raced toward the newly occupied bed. "Not so much pressure!" he shouted. "Are you trying to drain her of the last bit of blood she has?"

Min waited until she was sure the path was clear before patting the brothers on their shoulders. "Come on, boys. Lead me into the hall." She held out her hand and felt two smaller ones grasping her own – Dassag's around three of her fingers, Horas' by her thumb. They led her gently, walking slowly to keep her from tripping over the small inconsistencies in the tiles. She felt a modicum of pride for them; even though she had no relation to them, even though she was a complete stranger, they were so accepting of her. They would make fine men one day.

She felt Dassag stop, and would have run into him if the three of them had been traveling any faster. "Jermin, are you coming?"

A curse sprung to her lips. Light burn this condition of hers, and Light burn her for needing this kerchief! She should have seen how he tarried, with another guardsman on the table. At the very least she should have picked up on his sudden muteness. "Is everything alright?"

"Hmm? Yes, it's…it's fine," he said absentmindedly. "I'm right behind you, I promise." Unconvinced by his words she stood in place, extending her free hand. "Oh alright, force the issue then. Can't even have a moment's reflection with you around."

"Not when that moment of reflection turns into hours of helpless fretting," she chided, shaking her hand emphatically.

"What was it I said earlier about you and making sense? There's no need to shake it, I can see it plain as day." He folded her hand into his, giving it a squeeze. "Let's give the good doctor some space."

They left the hall, turning the corner to leave behind the sounds of the grim work that had to be done. Horas let go almost immediately, skipping ahead of them. "I can't wait until I know enough to help father," he announced. "Then Das and I can be heroes!"

Dassag led her to a chair, waiting until she made herself comfortable to join his brother. "It would be nice to help," he confessed. "I'm sure we could be more useful then."

Min shook her head. "You are both already useful. You just aren't ready to be as useful as you want to be."

"Besides, keep asking to be helpful and your father might just oblige you," Jermin added. "I'm sure there's always floors to be mopped, or clothes to launder."

Horas made a gagging sound. "Chores! I don't like doing chores."

"None of us do, Horas," Min reminded him. "But even if you're doing things you don't like, you're still helping your father. Even chores can make the work load easier."

"I suppose so," he said glumly. He stubbed his toes loudly on the floor before stomping his foot down with vehemence. "Das! I'll bet you I can run around the whole of the tax hall faster than you!"

Dassag scoffed. "You'll never be faster than me. I beat you in our last three races." Of a sudden he took off down the hall, with no other warning but the clop of his shoes hitting the floorboards.

"That's because you— hey, no fair!" His younger brother sped off after him.

As they were once again left alone she heard Jermin take in a slow breath. "So. 'Even if you're doing things you don't like, you're still helping.' You have been listening to me."

"It wasn't advice for me, it was advice for them," she countered. "They need to see what they're doing as beneficial to keep them focused."

"Perhaps you could heed those words as well." He sighed. "So rare are the times when we have actual peace these days."

She nodded. "These are not peaceful times. Would that they were, but the world finds itself on the brink of conflict and we have our duties to attend to."

Jermin grunted in affirmation before squeezing her shoulder. "You should just leave those thoughts in your head," he advised with a guarded tone in his voice. "Soldiers coming our way; you have to perform your civic duty after all."

Min adjusted her bearing just enough to put an ear toward the entrance. She could hear them now, the hard leather soles stepping in time along the corridor. A sour taste filled her mouth. Hadn't her employer called on her enough?

The contingent stopped just short of them, their contempt palpable. "Elmindreda Farshaw, my lord would be very interested to know why you were not at your tent when we came to collect you for him."

"Your lord knows exactly why I wasn't there," she replied venomously as Jermin spoke over her. "Miss Farshaw was benefitting the people of Ghealdan, a goal I am certain he would approve. As it stands, her obligations have only recently finished."

"I am sure," the soldier responded neutrally. "You are to accompany us, then. My lord will not be kept waiting."

She felt Jermin help her up. A thought crossed her mind and she put her hand on his chest. "My walking staff."

"We'll come back for it," Jermin promised. "I'll guide you there for now. After all, my lord will not be kept waiting now that he's called for you. So come; let's see what Lord Ablar needs from us today."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found a Min! It was an accident...
> 
> This was one of those things where I thought there might just be a couple extra bits to say about Min and where she ended up, and a footnote became a couple paragraphs, and suddenly there were far too many words on the page. It's the happiest of problems.
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> -EJT


	12. Chapter 11: Vision

As they passed closer to the ruins of the Jheda Palace they found themselves alone on the road. Due to the untimely death of the last true king, the landscar that had destroyed the palace itself, and the fit of superstition that abruptly seized the royalty eligible for the crown, everyone thought the palace grounds were cursed; because of that, the only ones that could be found near it were restoration workers, usually from outside the city. Of course, work could only continue when the weather allowed it, and the weather had been positively dreadful for well over a moon now. For now, attention was on clearing the way.

Jermin squeezed her hand gently. "We're at the bridge now," he announced. She paused obediently, accustomed to this hiccup in the journey. She heard the men's grunts as they dropped the bridge into place from its vertical position. It was a marvel of construction: two halves of a longer causeway that could be raised or lowered as one, leaving the space underneath free of obstruction when they were not in use. They had originally been built because no one trusted the landscar to be benign and no one wanted to keep building bridges spanning over the gap – and by the only architect that was willing to come so near to the chasm itself – but Min wondered if the design couldn't be used elsewhere. Jermin touched her hand, leading her slowly across the gap; then, once they had successfully spanned it, the other soldiers worked the mechanism on the other side to raise the halves once again. "There we are," he announced proudly. "Another bridge safe from the clutches of the Shadow."

Min snorted. "It isn't like you did any of the work here."

"Keep your mouths shut!" one of the other soldiers snapped.

A pang of irritation gripped her for an instant. It wasn't as if they had been discussing anything of importance; there was no reason for her to be treated like a common criminal! She thought about mouthing off to them, then changed her mind. There was no point in antagonizing the brutes with the pointy sticks. Though her eyes were covered, Min looked up to Jermin. "A right bunch of gleemen, these people are," she muttered, staying mute for the rest of the journey.

From the royal courtyards they passed to the nearby merchant's quarters, an ever-bustling part of the city. The largest building, a guild hall for those merchants that called Jehannah home, had been temporarily claimed by the governing officials for matters of state until the palace was declared structurally safe once more. Jermin had assured her that the guild hall was beautifully decorated in elaborate trims and with furnishings that spoke to the opulence of the city, but Min doubted she would ever get a chance to see it without escort.

Their escorts led them down a side hallway that funneled into a smaller space probably intended for informal gatherings, but for now used solely for matters of state and the questioning for which she had to be in attendance. As they approached Min steeled herself, mentally preparing for another grueling session in close proximity to the men she would call judgment on and her captor that brought them all together.

The inner door opened. Min was shepherded over to a corner on the far side of the room, where she thought a silent prayer for those that would be brought before them – her gift was not always needed, or even always useful, but the charges levelled against them were always grave of nature. Jermin patted her shoulder, probably as much to comfort himself as for her. "Just promise you'll at least try to behave today," he said in a voice so low only she could hear. "I would like to tuck in for the night without you missing any limbs."

Min smiled. "I only promise to try," she gave in response. "No more than that. After all, you know how I love to complain."

Jermin sighed, and she imagined him shaking his head. "That is precisely what I was afraid of."

She heard the clamor of armored men approaching, and conversation was stilled. More soldiers filed in, taking prearranged positions across the room and making it impossible to have any sort of private conversation. As the commotion settled one stomped his feet together. "Let it be known that today's proceedings come to pass under the eye of the honorable Lord Logain Ablar, Arbiter of Jehannah and Warden of Ghealdan."

Beneath her kerchief Min rolled her eyes. That same ridiculous speech every single time! It wasn't as if these proceedings happened without him in attendance. Honestly, the insufferable man was just reminding everyone how important he thought he was with that speech. Why couldn't he just walk into the room and be done with it, like the rest of the people in the world?

She knew the moment he walked in, because a hush fell over the room. A slow, methodical footfall rang out in the space, making its way to the desk she knew sat opposite the one door leading into the space. There was a sound of rustling papers before a gentle tapping of pen nib on ink pot. "It appears we have quite a number of issues to take care of today," Logain noted haughtily. "Bring in the first case, and let's see if the issues can be finished before noon." There was a thud as one of the soldiers saluted before swiftly tending to the order.

Min shook her head an imperceptible distance. Light burn her for admitting this, but he was good at making people pay attention to him. Self-absorbed and overly dramatic, yes, but very good at focusing all eyes in a room to him. Maybe it was the arrogance in his voice.

In short order the soldier returned with another much less willing set of feet following them. "The first case, Lord Ablar," she proclaimed. "One Bran Dolge, accused of the arson that burned in the northeast of Jehannah one month prior." A noncommittal grunt was given in response. There was a pause, and the soldier continued. "Eyewitnesses identified as Dolge's neighbors reported strange lights and odors from his room as early as a week before the fire. They all agree that some who died had also had disagreements with Dolge in the past."

"Seize me on the roadside, take away my pipe and my tabac, and then accuse me of this; I'd never do such a thing!" the man she assumed was Bran Dolge shot back angrily. "Not so carelessly, anyway. The neighbors might have been loud and annoying, and they all complained too much, but that's all neighbors! Besides, why would I burn my own house?"

More papers shuffled. "Yes," Logain echoed. "Why indeed? You are aware that these fires claimed the lives of over twenty people, are you not?"

Bran Dolge spat. "Pah! You're telling me as you care? It was all just buildings anyway, and you lot never care for the common folk from the first. Where's my bloody pipe?"

Min's lips pursed. She could only remember one house fire from her youth, and it had taken the entire community to douse its flames. The damage had gutted the building, and it was only through timely coordination and the Light knew how much luck that only the fire had stayed confined. And yet, five families had lost their homes. She had no remorse for this man, this thing that spoke so apathetically about the destruction that had ruined lives and livelihoods. Even the constant rain had been kept at bay by the heat, so intense was the blaze.

"Miss Farshaw," Logain called to her, "use your talent. Do you see anything suggesting further incidents?"

Her kerchief slipped off her head readily, eyes closed to protect against the shock of having so many people in the room. She was almost grimly excited to see what twisted future the Pattern had in store for him. Almost. With a steadying breath she opened her eyes, working to keep her face a perfect mask.

The sudden stimuli battered against her, but she was strong enough for now to last against the pressure. The man before her wore his bedraggled hair proudly, his stance challenging, his features condescending. As she focused on his face Bran Dolge guffawed. "Does she see anything? What's her talent, sizing me up for the bedroom? I'd have a right gallop on her after I'd had a smoke."

If she hadn't been so intently grasping to read the sign above his head, she would have given him a piece of her mind then and there. As it was she had to concentrate – not so hard as she had to do for some, this pig of a man did have something floating about him; but it was still as demanding an endeavor as wading through spring mud while carrying a bundle of firewood and balancing several pots of dyes in both hands. The apparition that finally snapped into focus for a scant breath was of a bright-red salamander, gorging on wood and flesh given to it by Dolge's hand. Unsatisfied, it latched onto his hand and tore his flesh, hungering for more. There was no more doubt in her mind. She closed her eyes. "If left free, this man will continue to burn as much as he thinks he can get away with," she said with rising confidence and no small amount of revulsion. "The need to feed fire is a sickness that grips his mind just as the white shakes take hold of the body. It will consume him as his fires consume buildings, and he will not stop even then. Death will be the only release for him, whether by his hand or another's."

The man scoffed at her. "What's this, then? You trust the word of this hussy? Are you mad about my offer earlier? Afraid you'd have a good time at it? Blood and ashes, my lord, are you actually listening to her? She can't know things about a man's future! I always knew you lot were—"

"She has a reputation of honesty and intuition," Logain interjected, "where you most certainly do not. Her word has proven reliable, and I see no reason to doubt her now. Bran Dolge, I hereby sentence you to hang by your neck until dead for the crimes of arson and manslaughter. May the Light have mercy on your soul, because I certainly won't."

"At least let me have one last smoke of tabac," Dolge demanded. "I am owed that."

More papers filled out. "No," Logain answered dismissively. "You are not."

The small space was suffused with profanities and dark promises concerning their imminent deaths. As the soldiers dragged the man away she heard another approach Logain's desk with new reports on the state of the city's various districts. She wished such topics could wait until after her part was done, but as she learned by proxy on a daily basis matters of state rarely postponed their needs on the matter of convenience for those involved with keeping it in line. She could feel a dull throb in her head, and the area just behind her eyes could have been covered in wool, but this was her life now. Well, what could not be mended must be lived with; there was truth in that more than she cared to admit. She reaffixed her kerchief, wondering how Das and Horas were doing and praying the new patient would pull through under Doctor Ashin's care.

The remainder of the morning was largely devoted to Ghealdan as a whole. Apart from a strenuous length of time when she was asked to look for visions tied to four officers involved in organizing a black market sale of military equipment – one of whom was the quartermaster for the city, and with her admission Logain grew uncharacteristically hostile – she was left idle in her corner. She knew there was at least one more case because she could hear Logain shuffling some papers back into his stack, and because she had not yet been released from service. It was maddening to wait, powerless to do aught else, but it was all she had. Burn him for wasting her time here! She could be back at the hospital doing something of merit, and she was certain he knew that, but he had to play his little power games to mind her of who was in control. As if it wasn't obvious from how often he touted his power every chance he had!

Eventually the maps and reports were folded and tucked away, and Logain's pen scratched away once more. "What is the final case to be heard today?"

"That of Muri Denaar, my lord," a soldier answered. "He is charged with treason and conspiracy to assassinate government officials."

The pen stilled, and Min's breath caught in her throat. Jehannah was still not wholly stable, to be certain, but outright assassination plots? Not even after Shadownight had the turmoil been that extreme. "Bring that filth before me immediately," Logain called out; and it seemed to her that his voice filled the small space, even though he had not shouted. Had it somehow become louder?

It was not long before the sound of another prisoner echoed in the corridor outside. The feeble complaints of the man in custody raised a measure of doubt with her. Unless something was not as it seemed with him she very much doubted that to be the voice of a killer.

She heard Logain tap his desk. "Muri Denaar, you have charges of treason and assassination placed against you. What say you?"

Chains rattled as a pair of hands clapped together. "Light go with you, my lord. Light shine on you and protect you as you—"

"Enough!" The chamber actually shuddered as Logain's shout reverberated through it. "You are charged with two of the most grievous crimes against me, against the queen and the crown and this country; and you have the gall to offer platitudes?"

The man must have fallen on his knees from the thud that came to her. "Please, my lord, I don't mean no offense! All's I want to do is go home."

"Do you think to find pity in me from your groveling? Pick yourself back up, and face your future like a man!"

Denaar was openly crying now, but Min heard him shuffle back onto his feet. "My lord, I promise you there weren't never such thoughts in my head. I wouldn't kill someone!"

"You have been in the employ of the crown for sixteen years now."

"Yes sir, a right faithful servant to the late king, Light bless his soul."

"You have made it your business to become familiar with the palace and its surrounding grounds during your tenure, have you not?"

"O-of course, my lord. I have to, being a gardener."

"Have you ever used this knowledge to your benefit?"

"Light deliver me, but I'm just a gardener, my lord. A gardener to the palace, is all."

"Did you ever knowingly share any of this information with another man?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'll tell the history of the palace to those as wants to know—"

"I have reports placing you in contact with rebellious elements. Do you deny this?"

"What? My lord, under the Light all I do is go to a tavern every now and—"

"Do you serve Ghealdan faithfully?"

"Yes, my lord, I swear to you—"

"Do you harbor any ill will to the queen or any other noblemen?"

"N-no, my lord, I—"

"LIAR!" Logain roared.

Min's ears rang from the shout. She actually felt the building shift under her feet. Letting this carry on would be pointless, possibly needlessly destructive. She stepped forward, working through her pain. "Lord Ablar, this gains us nothing. You have me here for the purpose of determining the truth. Let me do that." To emphasize her point she freed the blinder from her face, though she kept her eyes shut for the time being to mitigate the throbbing to a minimum.

Logain struck his desk, producing another whimper from Denaar. "Do as you will, but be quick. Let us be done with this." She nodded at him, then opened her eyes.

Her head swam in the maelstrom of haze and unformed images swarmed around the faces of those present. So many people in the room. Why were there so many? She directed her attention to the man in chains, a tearstained face framed in dark disheveled hair and simple raiment. There was a veritable cloud of possibilities floating around his head, a fact that would have been fascinating to her on any other day but this one. For now, she just wanted to do her part and leave.

His eyes were so sad. They kept looking to her, pleading with her to find something. Min had to force herself to ignore that gaze. Concentration was the key now. Light, trying to get an image to appear around him was like searching for a lost thread in one of her aunts' embroideries! She almost had one vision…there! A sparrow darting between rain drops, nimbly hopping to wherever it could find safety. There were more, there were several more, but it was so hard to focus now. An empty coffin, but she couldn't tell if it was his. They vanished for an instant, flitting back into existence. A flickering candle. A very blurry broken belt.

The images vanished again, and she rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands to clear them. "Lord Ablar, I am not seeing anything that suggests this man of treason. Untrustworthiness, but not treason."

Logain ground his teeth. "We have accounts from trusted agents placing him in direct contact with known protesters. He cannot be wholly innocent!"

"My lord, I am trying. It is hard enough for me to make out what there is normally, but there's something more at work here. All I can tell at this point is that he may be guilty of having too loose a tongue."

Denaar reached down to mop his forehead with a portion of his tunic. "Thank the Light for you, miss! I knew as you would see my innocence." He wiped beads of sweat from his skin, heaving a sigh of relief and…

Was he smiling underneath his tunic?

"You will speak only when spoken to!" Logain snapped; then, grudgingly, he added "Miss Farshaw merely saw what was there for her to see."

The smile turned into a look of complete servitude as Denaar's face came back in view. "Of course, my Lord Ablar. I only meant as to express my gratitude, was all."

Min cocked her head, taking a step forward. She had missed something.

Logain let out an irritated grunt. "It appears we were wrong about you. I will have to check the veracity of my reports when we are done here."

Pushing back the desire to drain a cup of willowbark tea, she focused on the signs again. The sparrow jumping away from rain drops. The flickering candle. The empty coffin.

"Muri Denaar, you are hereby cleared of the charges of treason and conspiracy to commit assassination."

The broken belt. The sparrow again, this time on the edge of a sword. An open letter, its seal broken by a gold coin. That by itself should be enough, but there was more she couldn't quite see. Denaar let out a happy sniffle. Was it faked?

"The representatives of Ghealdan apologize for any inconvenience these proceedings may have caused you. We charge you now only with keeping the peace of this city and country."

A new image, one she could barely make out. A raising portcullis, and from the outside a host of adders slithered in. As much as she ever could with her visions, she knew it was his effort that raised the barrier and let them pass.

"Go now in the—"

"Lord Ablar." She raised her hand; to her surprise, Logain stopped. "It appears I have found what else was at work. There are many images surrounding this man, more than most, but chief among them are these two. The first is a sealed letter broken by a gold mark; I can't imagine that meaning anything other than selling secrets to whomever is paying the highest. The second is a city gate, opened by his hand so that poisonous snakes may enter. Denaar may not be an assassin but he is certainly giving aid to those who would commit the deed themselves."

All eyes turned to Logain, sitting motionless behind his desk. Min's head ached from the effort, but she forced herself to keep watching. Denaar's face grew pale with fear, perspiration streaming down his face. He whimpered in the strong-arm vice between the guardsmen holding him captive, the only sound in an otherwise noiseless room. Logain regarded him pitilessly, arms crossed imperiously over his chest. "So. Not brave enough to deliver a killing blow yourself, but cowardly enough to tell those who could. Contemptible." His voice was dangerously quiet of a sudden, too controlled to truly suggest he was calm. He rose, and the man before them jerked as if seized by an unseen force. Min's breath caught in her throat, and everyone in the room recoiled at the sight as the man rose slightly in the air. She knew, as did the others present, what it was that held him captive now, but not a soul dared to name it aloud.

"Cut off his tunic," Logain commanded, and though the guards were quick to comply they seemed loath to touch him any more than necessary to shear off the heavy flax that garbed him. The whimpering became sniveling cries, and Min closed her eyes for a moment – in part to avert her gaze, in part to give her pounding head some respite. "Please, Lord Ablar, please spare me!" Denaar begged, his words becoming suddenly clearer and easier to understand. "I won't ever be trouble for you, I swear to serve you faithfully! You won't never need to feel that I'll betray you or the queen, not ever again! I promise to—"

The informant's words cut off suddenly as if he were suddenly gagged. Min opened her eyes, squinting through her headache to watch. His mouth worked around an invisible stopper and he quivered from head to toe as Logain loomed over him. "You're quite right, Denaar," he agreed softly. "You won't betray me, because I will know. You won't betray me, because you will have a constant reminder of what will happen to you should you try to cross me." As he reached out his hand Min shook her head to clear her vision; it could have just been her seeing double, but it looked as though Logain's hand was shimmering. Logain laid his palm on the informant's forearm, grasping it tightly, and the man screamed out in pain. The scent of burning flesh quickly filled the space, and Min clung to her kerchief as a lifeline. Suddenly she was very glad she had skimped on her breakfast.

It was unbearable to watch for even the few seconds it lasted. When at last Logain broke contact the man slumped forward, chest heaving, mouth foaming around the invisible bond that silenced him. Logain moved behind him, sauntering as if on an evening stroll. Or perhaps circling him as a wolf eyed prey. "This mark binds you to me. Wherever you go, I will know. Wherever you stay, I will find you. I charge you to feed your contacts false information, to make sure the real assassins will be caught, or your life is forfeit. Do this, and you may curry some small favor with me yet again. Do you understand?"

The informant sobbed behind his bond, nodding his head emphatically as he stared at the floor. Logain completed his circuit and raised the man's head with a single finger placed underneath the chin. His features were hard, unyielding as stone. "Lie, or even once think about betraying me again, and not only will I know in the very minute you do so but I will cause your brand to devour you from within."

Min had to turn away. She knew Logain had to be strict and unforgiving in his position, but Light he could act so cold! Perhaps it was simply the pressure of his position, but he always seemed to take every attack on the government as a personal affront. In any case, her temples were now throbbing and her eyesight was completely useless – whenever she had to look at Logain she was assailed by the almost-symbols that seemed washed out and not quite formed, as if the Pattern knew he should be something more but couldn't decide what that something was – and she had a grim suspicion that no amount of willowbark tea would help her tonight. She heard the man drop to the ground and scrabble out the door as she knuckled her forehead. When at last his footsteps faded from the chamber she heard Logain's heavy boots march back to his desk. "Post three watchers outside his quarters. Wherever he moves, I want them to follow him discreetly. When he has completed his task take him to some remote field and gut him. I will not treat with traitors."

She heard two pairs of boots stomp off, leaving her relatively alone with the man responsible for her forced servitude. Behind her Jermin reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder gently. He was perhaps the only one who knew how much these sessions taxed her, as she refused to let her guard slip when surrounded by others. She sent a quick smile to him as thanks, resisting the urge to massage her temples while she waited for Logain to release her. He scratched out a note on a parchment before taking in a prolonged breath. Was Logain nettling her for nearly making him look a fool? Light burn him for taking so long in getting to her! "Miss Farshaw, thank you once again for your service. You do a great deed for the crown. Ghealdan is once again in your debt."

If it weren't for the potentially fatal consequences of doing so, she would have laughed aloud. As it was she bit back a sarcastic smile; Ghealdan may profit, but it was Logain that time and again called on her ability. She wondered if the queen even knew of her existence, much less what she had been asked to prove in her name. As the pause lengthened to silence she bowed her head, swallowing her irritation. "Of course, my lord. If it pleases you, though, I would retire for the day until you have need of me again."

"You will stay until I give you leave to withdraw," Logain countered in a commanding tone. "I may have more need for your talent today."

Min gestured around the room. "More men for me to send to their deaths? More souls to sit in anticipation while I blind myself, trying to wait and see if my visions will even appear around them? I saw none when last I opened my eyes, but perhaps more slipped in as I rested my head against the aching it now bears. Present them, Lord Ablar, and I will see what I can do."

"Indeed? I think you grow rather bold for your station, Miss Farshaw. Would you rather our positions were exchanged, with you fulfilling the clerical duties and I divining the truth from those brought before me? I could extract it, but my methods are much more gruesome than yours. Would you rather document the atrocities I have to commit instead of saving others from that terrible fate?"

This time she did laugh. Heightened by the danger she had tripped herself into, she felt equal parts emboldened and numb, as if her mind could not decide what to tell her body it sensed. She forced her eyes open, ignoring the screaming protests from her temples as she concentrated on appearing to be in control. "Not one bit. I consider myself a lucky woman, that my employer still only orders me to observe. I can still write my actions on parchment, and parchment is forgiving of mistakes. You, in your position, must write on the susceptible skins of the living, your actions determining who lives and who dies. I would rather be the tool you see me as than make those choices; but if I am to be a tool, then let me properly rest. I am no use to you broken."

She had thought the chamber quiet before, but now it was filled with the silence of a grave. If a pin had dropped in the antechamber she would have been able to hear it. Logain stared at her with such measured contempt that she was surprised she hadn't burst into flames – perhaps especially surprised coming from him; after all, wielding that terrible male half of the One Power could grant him that skill, of that she had no doubt. The very air seemed to be charged and she stood motionless waiting for the lightning to fall from the heavens. Regardless, she stood firm; she would not be bullied into submission, even by the likes of Logain.

Of a sudden Logain picked up his pen once more, turning back to his papers as if there had never been an interruption. "You. The officer guarding the strong-willed Miss Farshaw. What was your name?"

She heard Jermin stiffen behind her. "Jermin, my lord."

"Jermin, escort the lady back to her quarters. See if you can't teach her some respect before I call on her again."

"Of course, my lord."

Min closed her eyes for what she hoped would be the final time. She pointedly affixed her kerchief in place before giving a deferential bow. "My thanks, Lord Ablar." There was no response; she hadn't truly expected there to be one. She held out her hand and allowed Jermin to lead her out of the room. His tension was palpable, even from the contact of his hand guiding hers.

When the door had finally shut behind them she felt Jermin's grip tighten. "That was a very, very foolish thing to do!" he chided. "Why did you decide you had to pick fights with Lord Ablar, of all people? Why couldn't you just get in a tavern brawl with a starving bear, or try to kill the Queen herself? Either would be less deadly for you."

She let out an exhausted chuckle. "I can't let him think he owns me," she murmured. "I can't. If I let him fix that in his mind, I may as well not exist as a person."

"Well, next time you decide to be a woolheaded lummox feel free to leave me outside the range of the fireballs."

They had come to the entrance, the sounds of urban life filtering through to Min's ears as the door was opened for her. There was also a distinct brightness around her field of vision. "Jermin," she asked incredulously, "did the rain actually let up?"

The soldier stopped, and she could almost see him staring at the sky in an exaggerated manner. "You know, I do believe it did. I think that's what all this sunshine and general lack of cloud is supposed to mean."

As Jermin paused to shut the door behind them she rested her head against his arm. "I just realized you minded me of someone."

Jermin barked out a laugh. "Did this person have any sense in them? If they did, they must have been your worst enemy."

Min gave his arm a playful push. "I'd like to think she had sense. You mind me of my aunt, or one of them at least. I think you and Rana would get along very nicely, trading tales about me."

"Should I take that as a good sign, that I make you think of family?"

She opened her mouth to reply and the world lurched. Her grip on Jermin's arm failed as she fell down – or was it sideways? An acute sense of vertigo knocked her knees out from under her. Her vision pulled in four contrary directions all at once, and even in the protection of her blinder she felt the world spin around her. Unyielding stone hit her back, and though the impact was light it sent her sense of up whirling yet again.

"Min? Min, is everything alright?"

Though her head still felt as if it was wobbling she forced a calm and steady stream of air through her nose. "I think I am becoming fine," she corrected, "but if you could tell the world to stop spinning quite so fast that would be appreciated."

"I make no promises where the world is concerned." His calloused palm felt her forehead. "I don't feel anything that suggests head injury. Min, I'm sorry but I have to take your kerchief off to be sure. I'll make this as quick as I can."

Daylight filtered through her closed eyes. Painful though it was, it seemed no more painful to her than any other time she had walked from a dark room into the noonday sun. Obediently, though reluctantly, she opened her eyes.

Jermin's face was hovering over her, worry plastered on his aging features. He turned her head one way and then the other. There was something strange about his appearance, though she couldn't put her finger on what exactly it was. "Your eyes seem to be dilating properly," he said. "I don't think you'll have anything to worry about other than a bruised tailbone."

Min nodded slowly, reaching her hands down to prop herself up. "I can live with that." She glanced his way again and froze, the missing piece of what was wrong finally registering in her tired mind – or rather, the missing piece of what was right.

Above Jermin's head hovered a shield, clear as day. It was battered and splintered, and covered in so much blood it was nearly impossible to see the grain of the wood. A giant crack threatened to split it down the center, but against all sense it held.

The sign was there for an instant and then it was gone. She could have wept, knowing the man next to her would protect her up to and beyond his own death, but weeping never served any purpose with her viewings. "I think the Pattern was just righted," she managed. "My eyesight is better now."

Jermin raised a graying eyebrow. "I've never heard of a person improving their vision after a tumble, but you do have a habit of being a special case. What was it that just fixed the Pattern?"

"I have no idea." She knew exactly what it was; there was only one thing it could be. Only one other time her viewings had been affected, with the death of a sheepherder not yet aware of who he would be or what the Pattern had in store for him. But she was tired of prophecy and mysticism. All she wanted was to live her life. "Even though it's better, I think I'll still opt for being led; I don't know that I can trust my eyes yet, with them having been covered for so long."

Her guardian nodded, a playful smirk disappearing from his features as if it had never been there in the first place. "Fair enough. Like stretching a muscle after it's healed, I suppose. Let's go get your walking stick." He pulled her off the ground, waiting for her to reaffix her kerchief before leading her through the afternoon streets.

"Jermyn?"

"Yes?"

"When we visit the bath house tonight, chop down a willow tree for me. I want my bath water to have steeped all its bark by the time I get in."

"Couldn't you just ask for a pot of willowbark tea like anyone else?"

"I don't know that an entire pitcher would be enough at this point."

Jermyn let out an over-the-top sigh. "It can never be easy with you, can it?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so much fun to think of interplay like what happens in this chapter. Really gives me giggles going back and reading. Also, a fun little addition here for the history buffs; where is it, and who was it?
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> -EJT


	13. Chapter 12: The Broken Seal

It was absolute chaos in the hall. Sitters, full-grown women and some of the most notable Aes Sedai the White Tower had produced, were openly engaging in hysterics. Some were wailing at the information, their bodies racked by each sob. Some, it seemed, were trying to deny the possibility of the Foretelling – though the frantic tone in their babbling suggested it was themselves they were trying to convince. Others simply stood by their chairs, vacant expressions precluding other signs of life from manifesting. Siuan rose from her crouch, feeling the telltale signs of a stress-induced headache. If she could set aside the dread implications of what Elaida had revealed in her last moments by the end of the evening, she hoped to fall into a sleep that rivaled the dead for immobility. She doubted she would be able to, though.

Not wanting to risk a break in tradition with any weaves, she took in as much air as she could. "Compose yourselves!" she barked. She was thankful for whichever long-dead architect had designed the domed space, for the natural acoustics amplified her words and carried them so effectively her voice had no need of _saidar_. Her sudden command shocked the Sitters into a hush, catapulting her to the forefront of every woman's thoughts, if only temporarily. She ran through her own modified calming exercise. Becoming the center of attention had always been easy for her; it was what to do with that attention that remained the tricky notion. She motioned to Moiraine. "Daughter, I charge you to utter no word of these events to any not present."

Her friend bowed. "Under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth I shall do as you command, Mother."

Internally Siuan grimaced. She was hearing that phrase far too frequently for her liking. The Light send she lived to see a time when such oaths were no longer required. "Please remove the body to a safe place until we may arrange for her mourning day."

Moiraine glided forward, her perfectly inscrutable mask already in place. "As you command, Mother." She bowed gracefully. "With the Hall's permission, I would weave a cushion of Air for the purpose of escorting the departed sister out in a timely manner." Sufficient nods and vacuous stares met the request, and Siuan felt the telltale warmth of another woman embracing the Source as the body hovered above the multi-hued tiles of the Hall and slipped quietly past her.

The silence was absolute, as if the two-woman procession revealed a phantasm walking among the halls. Siuan let it remain for a breath before gathering her dress up in her hands and ascending to her chair. The motion rippled outward from her, with the Sitters arranging themselves by protocol and Leane hurriedly trotting to catch up to her. When she judged the length of time sufficient she lowered herself to her seat, the calm of the Amyrlin Seat radiating from her serene face. Normalcy gently seeped back into the Hall, and to her relief the Sitters reverted to their common complaints and grumblings about the uncomfortable seats or their poor placement around the Hall, if in more subdued tones than usual.

When the women had finally settled Siuan tapped her hand rest, a gentle notice for the rest of the Aes Sedai to focus on. "I propose that this meeting of the Hall be a formal Sitting, and that the subjects herein discussed be Sealed to the Hall." At the collected acquiescence Siuan nodded to Lelaine. "Daughter, if you would."

Lelaine rose, shakily, from her own chair and embraced the Source. "What is brought before the Hall of the Tower is for the Hall alone to consider," she intoned, her voice colored with a quiver of fear. "Whosoever intrudes unbidden, woman or man, initiate or outsider, whether they come in peace or anger, I will bind according to the law, to face the law. Know that what I speak is true; it will and shall be done." The task done, she plopped back into her seat, at which time Teslyn glowed with saidar on the other side of the space. She prepared a ward against eavesdropping with meticulous attention to form, rising quickly from her chair. "There may be those within earshot who are not of the Hall. What is spoken in the Hall of the Tower is for the Hall alone to hear, until and unless the Hall decides otherwise. I will make us private. I will seal our words to our ears only." The tasks done and custom met, the women looked around the space waiting for someone to mention the first and only thought on everyone's minds. Siuan remained inert while the gravity of their situation began sinking in, though she could hear Leane squeezing her hands together beside her. How, then, to start discussing the world when it was but a tiny push from the end of days?

Saerin clicked her teeth. "None of us want to start with the topic, but it is and shall remain the most important of any topic we will ever discuss as long as we live. The Dragon is Reborn." She bit back a grimace, as if the very words possessed the most mephitic stench she could imagine. There seemed to be an air of discomfort around the Hall, but there was none of the open weeping there had been earlier. This was a positive sign, in Siuan's eyes; at least she could count on them approaching the situation with level heads, instead of throwing tantrums like children on their first oyster shucking duty. "We must decide our course of action now, so that we know how best to organize our efforts and bring him to the White Tower."

The Brown Sitter looked between her peers, eying each in turn before she continued. "Let us start by chronicling the Foretelling before its words are lost to us." She leaned forward, turning to Takima. "I take it you have spare parchment available." As her fellow Brown furnished blank vellum from somewhere within the folds of her dress and began furiously transcribing with a spare stick of charcoal she reclined back into her chair. "We should begin, I think, by considering what we know about the Karaethon Cycle. We know he shall, by now, be born on the slopes of Dragonmount. Of course, there is the small matter of the passage 'born of a maiden wedded to no man.' I don't think the term maiden refers to any of those wretched Far Dareis Mai, but I do suppose it's possible that―"

Talene scoffed, blue eyes filling with contempt. "Does it truly matter who his mother is? You can sort that out after we find him. We know the day and we know where he must have been born. We even know the exact time. There's nothing left to do but send out a watch to the villages west of Tar Valon and wait for the babe to come to us."

Saerin bristled at the interruption, a fearsome scowl overtaking her features, but before the situation could descend into a war of niceties Doesine shook her head. "I do not think that to be the wisest choice. Tar Valon and its outskirts may be the only good option, but a woman pressed may chance the wilds over the city if she saw an entourage present. Especially if that entourage was inquiring after newborn babes."

Across the Hall Yukiri steepled her fingers. "We could simply post a few Aes Sedai in each town right by the roadside, even as few as two. Have them there under the guise of collecting census information, or documenting traffic into and out of the city."

The idea engendered murmured conversation throughout the hall, with fervent animation from the two Reds. After a moment of consideration the Red Sitter Teslyn stared at the woman next to her incredulously. "That do assume quite a good bit. What if the boy's mother do be of the city? What if she do be a trader that do frequent our roads, and know that there do be no such collector? This do sound too suspicious. I do say we search for the babe, and do no keep to such schemes as you do suggest."

The response had mixed reactions around the Hall. Some Sitters nodded in approval, others looked as if they had just swallowed a live eel. Pevara remained oddly quiet, and Yukiri was doing her best to restrain herself from retaliation, though her first reaction was one of confusion. Even the Yellow and Gray Sitters, long-time allies of the Reds, seemed confused by Teslyn's suggestion, uncertain whether to support their comrade or suggest a different approach.

Velina, on the other hand, inclined her head as she adjusted her white-fringed shawl. "Efficient and logical," she offered coolly. "The more complicated we make our plan, the higher the margin for error. An intriguing choice, Teslyn." The implication of the backhanded compliment that a Red would deign to pretend at logic resonated throughout the space. Velina rested her head in between her thumb and index finger, dark eyes locked on Teslyn and the rest of her hand hiding what Siuan imagined could only be a smirk. Siuan steeled herself for an interjection; but as Teslyn opened her mouth Lyrelle rose from her chair, extending her pale arms in a graceful and embracing motion. "Sisters, this conversation dilutes our purpose. We are all of us united in this front, and we must only decide on the course of action. There seem to be but two options before us: wait for the babe to come here, or go out into the world seeking him. I propose that we put this to a vote."

Siuan nodded. It seemed to her that the best course of action would be to hunt the child and his mother down, but there was custom to uphold. Then again, there could be other factors to consider. It may be that the child had been born into the obscurity of an unknown family – quite possible, the more she thought about it; Moiraine's report had given him as a farmer's son, and the Light alone knew how many farmers there were. Or perhaps the opposite was true and he had been born into wealth or a title. This wouldn't preclude the locating and acquisition, but it would have to be handled more delicately; the Aes Sedai were already looked upon unfavorably in some parts of the world, unbelievable as it was, and their reputation would not be helped if it was discovered they had kidnapped a newborn. Of course, there was also the possibility that the child was sick or dying – she didn't want to admit that, but the Dragon had already been struck down; and cold logic demanded she consider it as possible – in which case he would need the attention of one of the Yellow sisters. She didn't know whether to take the Karaethon Cycle at the literal interpretation of its text or not, but with a second chance as fragile as this it would be best to cover all possible outcomes.

Next to Lyrelle Anlee nodded, twisting one of the many rings on her fingers. "I agree with Lyrelle. Now is the time for decision. We must unite on the course of our action and cut out the if's and might's. It would be the Aiel War all over again if we don't."

"That is quite enough about that, daughter," Siuan quipped, taken out of her musings by the inappropriateness of Anlee's commentary. She knew the decisions of the Hall during the Aiel War were only Sealed to the Hall, but there was no telling how much more had been Sealed to the Flame. It was best not to reach your hand into a net unless you knew there would be no lionfish inside to prick your fingers. "Since the proposition has been put forward, let us decide. Who stands for an immediate search for the Dragon Reborn?"

It was interesting to see each woman's reaction to the question. The Green Sitters all unanimously stood up, though Talene cast a look around the Hall before she leapt to her feet to proudly stand by her sisters. Teslyn as one of the remaining Red Sitters joined them almost at the same time, equal parts minding the enthusiasm with which the Greens had stood and glancing to Pevara next to her when she remained sitting. Magla from the Yellows helped Sedore to her feet, though they were standing so close it was possible to presume she wasn't for the sake of propriety; and Anlee in the Blues allowed herself a more regal glide that matched Lyrelle's own graceful ascension beside her. Velina and Saroiya uttered not a sound as they slid out of their chairs, both blinking and looking about with the touch of haughtiness that Whites always seemed to have in their expressions. Janya scrambled to her feet, squinting at a presumed ink spot on her dress and seeming to pay no more attention to the proceedings; while across the Hall the Gray Evanellein rose promptly and gave Teslyn a curt nod.

No words were spoken. Nobody dared to. Siuan pursed her lips as she counted. Only twelve. Not enough for even the lesser consensus. However, as she inhaled to continue with the responsorial inquiry as dictated by custom Saerin rose from her chair, straightening her dark hair and grimacing as she focused on the inlaid tile of the floor. Simultaneously, Pevara jerkily reached outward, as if the lurching movement was the only thing providing her momentum with which to stand; even so, she paused halfway up as if contemplating whether to sit back down. Seaine pressed her fists beneath her chin, an intense moment of concentration on her face, before rising; but she too had a look of consternation plaguing her, brow furrowed intently.

Siuan let out her breath slowly. It was done. For better or worse, they had decided on their course. "The lesser consensus standing, we shall seek for the Dragon Reborn," she announced, forcing her voice to calmness. Light! To think that a newborn child would test her mettle more than the threat of Trollocs. "In the interest of unity, I ask for the greater consensus to stand."

Her call to the Sitters hung in the air for a heartbeat before Lelaine and Doesine stood. By now all of the Sitters had been shocked back into stillness, the reality of what they faced becoming apparent. When the remaining three failed to move Siuan let out an internal sigh. It was time to bend custom, ever so slightly, with a speech. "We have decided on the course, daughters, and the White Tower will move forward regardless. Despite that point, this will be unlike any challenge we have yet faced. We must contend with the birth of the Dragon Reborn." She let her sentence fully register, waiting for recognition and slightly more sullen expressions on their faces, before she continued in a subdued tone. "The White Tower must be whole. It must remain whole, from the leadership in this Hall to the novices we teach, down to the very last servant and scullery maid in our employ. You know our charge and you know our course, so I will ask you again – not as an Amyrlin to her Sitter, not Aes Sedai to Aes Sedai, but as simple as one woman to another. Let us be unified in our decision. Let the White Tower be whole."

Oh how her heart hammered! Her emotions should be in better check than this, even though the entire situation was a tangle of bloody knotted fishing wire! She was thankful for the decade of practice in schooling her voice into line, her internal feelings hidden behind the mask she wore, but burn her if that didn't mean the whole bloody thing took such high levels of self-control! She was elated when the last three Sitters finally rose from their chair, pointedly looking elsewhere but at each other. "The greater consensus standing, we shall seek for the Dragon Reborn unified in purpose."

They had finally agreed. Time to unbalance them, and lay the groundwork to test a theory she had built years ago.

"We shall commence the search at dawn tomorrow morning."

The Hall exploded into protests. Sitters leapt to their feet and came perilously close to shouting, each fighting to be heard over the woman next to her. When the clamor died down Teslyn remained on her feet, crossing her bony arms and scowling at her with her dark brown eyes. "This do be outrageous! We do finally agree on a course of action, and you do ask us to wait until tomorrow?"

Talene joined her from across the hall, tossing her golden hair behind her shoulder and angrily affixing her hands to her hips. "I agree with Teslyn," she added, though the reluctance in her voice clearly indicated she wished it to be otherwise. "We must leave now and find him before his mother has enough time to slip away."

Siuan rose to her own feet, ignoring the confrontational stance and taking on as severe a quality as she dared within the Hall. "It is well past the noon hour, and we would need to gather supplies and provisions. We must assume this excursion would take at least a week, to interview and ask every person within reasonable distance of Dragonmount. This takes coordination, and it will take planning. The best we can hope for is to reach the very slopes by the time night falls, and this is allowing for everything to go perfectly according to plan. Do any of us possess a weave that allows one to see at night with the full efficacy of the sun? If we had to search beyond Dragonmount and we used lights to illumine our ways, do you think any mother desperate enough to give birth to a child on Dragonmount itself would risk approaching any sign of another person? We must use this time to plan, efficiently, so that we do not need to base our outcomes on hopes and possibilities."

The reactions were rather what she expected, more or less. The White, Yellow, and Gray Sitters appeared satisfied with the explanation on the whole, though there were one or two among them who still seemed displeased. The Blues and Browns showed intriguing mixes of resignment, ponderation, intrigue, and constraint. It was the Green and Red Sitters who ran the spectrum of expressivity, from Teslyn who kept her arms crossed and added to them with a scowl to Talene who looked so agitated she might just eat her shawl, to Rubinde who seemed to be more affronted that Talene was more livid than her at the proclamation, to Pevara who seemed to have somewhat retreated into herself. It was finally Faiselle who cleared her throat, rearranging her hair with a thick hand and inadvertently shocking Rubinde and Talene out of their glaring contest. "It is not optimal, but it makes the most sense. I will be the first to admit that even with the aid of the One Power, we could miss vital clues in an extended search at night. The next hurdle to overcome is determining how many sisters to send on this task, and how much information to tell them."

Sedore snorted. "That's simplicity itself. We send as many sisters as we can spare. We cannot risk losing the Dragon Reborn to negligence on our part."

"That would be improper," Pevara countered gently, her voice somehow carrying past her chair. "A sister has died today, a Sitter of this very hall. Some will wish to mourn, more than anything. We cannot deprive them of that opportunity."

"Oh yes," Velina retorted acerbically, "the fate of the world itself must hang on grievance for one woman. A most cogent stance to take."

"Daughter, you will apologize for that comment forthwith," Siuan commanded sharply. "There shall always be respect for the dead."

Velina looked quite taken aback, giving Siuan a smug bit of pleasure. "Of course, Mother," she replied smoothly, turning to Pevara with a chastised expression. "I must ask for your forgiveness for speaking ill of and without respect for the dead. I will serve a penance of labour in the gardens for two months."

"The penance will be a birching from the Mistress of Novices," Siuan interposed. Ground would be lost with the White Ajah this day, but the momentum of the Hall required it. "We can ill afford to have any woman question why a Sitter would be conducting penance at so crucial a juncture as this." Velina looked as if she had just swallowed a cupful of octopus ink, but she bit her tongue.

"In any case," Saerin prompted, courteously sidestepping the topic of embarrassment, "it would be impractical to send every sister we had at our disposal, even after we observed the proper mourning rites. We would have to tell them why we were sending them on a search, and surely there would be some who could discern what we were searching for using context alone. Someone would talk, and word would spread. It needs to be a small, handpicked group of women sworn to absolute secrecy."

"But we need the entire area surrounding Dragonmount searched," Sedore insisted. "Your small group may work in the town, but it will be useless for anything outside its boundaries. We cannot expect to have both searches done at the same time."

Evanellein perked up, large brown eyes blinking rapidly. "Yes, yes we can! The entire scenario is predicated on the belief that it would be only Aes Sedai conducting the search; but if we bring Warders in to sweep the wilderness surrounding Dragonmount―"

"Then we double the search at the same time," Janya finished quickly, her brown stole fluctuating as she nodded vehemently. "Of course! It makes perfect sense now that it is pointed out."

The Sitters murmured amongst their Ajah members, each taking their own measure of surreptitious glances toward the Greens, until Faiselle put her coppery hands together in her lap. "If the question is simply one of manpower, then Myrelle and Careane are going to be the best options. They have seven Warders between them, and I am sure they could swear them to secrecy and compliance."

"We should also have a Yellow sister attached to the entourage, in case Healing is required," Doesine pointed out. "There's no telling if the babe or his mother were exposed to the elements, or if some other malady may have befallen them."

Sedore waved her hand dismissively, as if her fellow Sitter had asked what refreshments to put out for tea. "That'll be Narenwin, then. She doesn't have a Warder to help contribute to the search, but she's the best-suited we have to dealing with children and their ilk."

"There is also a need to have a Gray," Varilin said, straining to have her Ajah included. "Beonin would be an excellent choice to explain to a mother why we needed to shelter her newborn, or even convince her to accompany us to the White Tower."

Siuan could feel the pulse of the Hall now that they had taken to the idea, the energy with which they added to the idea, the sway of the tide of their opinion. It was time to grab hold of the rudder before the boat capsized. She stood, holding her arms out to either side with downturned palms, ascending quickly to speak before the other three Sitters who were already rising to announce their pick for candidates. "Daughters, I know there are several qualified sisters who could help us with this task, but if we carry on we shall indeed find ourselves trying to send the entire Tower. I agree with the sisters who have been named and feel their place is well-deserved, but I must ask that we end the submission of names from any Ajah save one." She looked to Teslyn and Pevara. "We have four sisters who shall be sent on the search. Are there four Red sisters you would trust to send along with them? I would have each woman be one of a pair, four sets of eyes conjoined with the expertise of the Red Ajah in looking for signs of a male channeler."

Janya squinted in confusion, turning from Siuan to the other Brown Sitters. "But...is there going to be a sign that this child could channel? Takima, what do the texts say on the subject?"

Takima looked startled as the conversation shifted to her. She smoothed her dress with her hands, speaking to the new wrinkles formed in their wake. "I must preface that I have not studied as many texts concerning the Karaethon Cycle or Tarmon Gai'don, but what I have read on the subject does not shed light on whether the Dragon Reborn will or will not be able to channel at his birth. I suppose it is equally plausible that he could be born with the spark as have it manifest later."

"And therefore it is a good idea to plan for the eventuality," Siuan finished smoothly. She bit back her impatience that the discussion had been waylaid by trivialities, but such was the way of the Hall. They were ever given to debate and consideration, especially, it seemed, when lives were at stake. "Pevara, Teslyn, your candidates please."

The two Red Sitters conferred between themselves for a few moments before Pevara stood. "The four sisters currently at the White Tower most able to detecting male channelers would be Desala, Sashalle, Duhara, and Lemai. They are all of them trustworthy, and can work with the other sisters."

"They will have no choice, daughter. We must find the Dragon Reborn and bring him to the White Tower." Siuan fought through the shudder that threatened to overtake her. It truly was like reliving her days as an Accepted nearly twenty years ago. "I will see these women in my study this evening so that we may coordinate how they shall go about their search. They shall also have Alric for the efforts outside the village itself, and I am certain Leane will lend Burin as well. That makes ten Warders searching the perimeter, and eight sisters in the village itself."

She waited for the Sitters to nod before continuing. "There are two other items which I had hoped to make the primary focus of today's sitting, that must wait for another day as we prepare for this search and the day of mourning; but they are both important enough that I must ask we consider them in the interim. The first is that we have not heard anything from Ghealdan in over three months concerning the False Dragon, and this is something which must be rectified quickly. We must assume at this point that our original hunting party was somehow killed and must be replaced. I will not have us sit in ignorance to their fate, and I will not have male channelers loose on the world."

"The second and more concerning matter is that of recent Trolloc activity within the Blight. They have scaled back the frequency of their attacks, and when they have struck it is frequently against towns rich in raw materials. Reports from the Borderlands confirm that all manner of Shadowspawn are camping just out of raiding distance from any of the light cavalry groups, and especially heavily around Arafel and Kandor. If their numbers are to be believed, this is a contingent of Trollocs of a size not seen since the battle of Maighande."

A chill settled in the room as the ancient name left her lips. This time every Sitter showed the same fear, the same terror draining blood from their faces. "Light preserve us," Saerin breathed. "Are they truly so great in number that we must compare them to the Trolloc Wars themselves?"

Siuan nodded grimly. "I fear so."

"But then what are we to do?" Lelaine nearly wailed. "What can we do in the face of so much?"

"We prepare," Siuan answered, steeling her voice with more confidence than she felt. "We prepare, we organize, we coordinate, and when the time comes we shall fight. Daughters, I implore you to reach out to all nations and warn them of this threat. Ask them to prepare to march in defense of the Borderlands when we receive word, because mark my words when I say that war is coming. But for now, we mourn." She readjusted her shawl. "At Trine I will speak with the Accepted and any Aes Sedai visiting the White Tower in the Oval Lecture Hall, and officially announce the day of mourning for tomorrow."

"You cannot mean to tell them the cause of Elaida's death," Anlee remonstrated.

"I shall do no more and no less than what we always do, daughter, for Aes Sedai speak no word that is not true," Siuan replied calmly. "Now, if there is nothing else on the agenda I believe that concludes this Sitting." Without waiting for confirmation she nodded to Leane, who stepped forward and completed the ritual old as time, the custom strong as law. "This Sitting of the Hall is concluded. Depart now in the Light."

The bustle signifying the Sitters' egression from the hall was predictably somber. Siuan waited deferentially for Saerin and Anlee to vacate their chairs before moving from in front of her own, signaling Leane to follow her. They left the Hall behind at a regal pace, taking the long journey back toward the Amyrlin's Study. After several turns to ensure they were alone Siuan wove a small ward against eavesdropping, holding it around them as they walked. She had cast the chum; now to stir the waters and see what surfaced. "Leane, I need your help in scratching an itch."

Her Keeper perked up, walking just a touch straighter. "Of course, Mother."

"I am going to declare tonight a night of prayer. Speak with the stablehands and the guards posted at our gates, and tell them that they are to bar any woman from leaving tonight. Should any woman approach them, they are to direct them back to their room for contemplation. However, they should not stop anyone if they feel their lives imperiled."

Leane awaited further instruction before curtsying. "As you say, Mother. Shall I visit them tomorrow morning as well?"

"If you don't mind. We shall hope for a quiet night full of contemplation and remembrance."

"Of course. By your leave, Mother." At the next intersection her Keeper peeled off, leaving Siuan alone for the few paces before her destination. She dispersed the weave, every step an onerous struggle to maintain the majesty of her office. Light, there was so much to do! Any one of these problems would be enough to define an Amyrlin, and at least two had the potential to become map-altering events, but all three at once! And she was expected to lead the White Tower through the hazard of finding the Dragon Reborn, never mind the near-certainty of war with Trollocs in the coming months or the threat of the Black Ajah!

The burden of her responsibility had never felt so heavy. Was this what Moiraine had gone through on her flight from the hinterlands of Andor? She couldn't imagine going through this alone as she had, and with losing Lan on top of that! If she had lost Alric in the thick of things she probably wouldn't have fared any better than her friend.

She made the last few steps to the reception chamber, closing the door firmly behind her. So much to do. So many things, and yet somewhere a babe was born that must come before them all. She rested her head on the polished oak of the door, allowing the veneer of her calm to crack. Maps. She needed maps of the area around Dragonmount, maps of the Borderlands, maps of trade and supply routes. She needed sisters to establish larger communications networks. She needed someone to fish up the old treaties in case leverage was needed for any of the more stubborn heads of state. She needed to draft a formal request of audience to speak with Pedron Niall and his officers. She needed to speak with the captain of the guard in Tar Valon to begin a recruitment campaign. So much to do, but would there be time enough?

"Mother, I―"

Siuan whipped around, rebuilding her austerity in the blink of an eye. To any that did not know her well she was once again the picture of the Amyrlin Seat. But she was greeted by one who knew her quite well, the one closest to her in the entire Tower. Moiraine had returned to the antechamber, waiting patiently and passing a length of the strange fabric Warder cloaks were comprised of through her fingers. "I was wondering if you had any further instruction for me," she continued in an undertone. She too looked to be the picture of Aes Sedai serenity, but Siuan could see the almost imperceptible signs of worry: the slight tightness at the corner of her eyes, the unnatural stillness dominating her already perfect poise, the small nostril flare as her friend looked her over. "Tomorrow is going to be a day of mourning, and you will have need of as much assistance as can be offered."

Siuan was at a loss for words. Her thoughts stalled – not forgotten, merely scattered for the time being – and she strode into the protection of her study with Moiraine on her heels, wordlessly following. The door and her protective wards separating them from the outside world, she turned to her friend and embraced her, burrowing into the nape of the smaller woman's neck and holding her close. Her friend understood instinctively, hugging her in kind and running her fingers through Siuan's hair. "I understand," she said, soothingly. "Even the Amyrlin Seat has to be only a woman at times."

A melancholic chuckle escaped her. Burn her for having a friend like Moiraine who could see things so clearly all the time! "I don't know if I can do this," she admitted aloud. "I don't know if I can bear the strain."

"You can bear it," Moiraine assured her. "We can all bear it, because we must. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, but we all have a place in its Pattern. We will weather even this storm together."

Siuan gave her one final squeeze before prying herself off Moiraine's slight frame. "Burn you and your mystic talk," she mock-chastised, letting her old Tairen accent slip through for an instant. "Keep that up, they'll have you in this bleedin' neck-warmer before long."

Moiraine let out one of her melodious laughs, holding Siuan's hands for a breath before letting go. "I'm afraid I would have to retire, then," she shot back with a smile. "The Hall would have a wild Amyrlin on their hands otherwise."

Warmth crept back into Siuan, and she reached for the correspondences left on her desk. "What do you think they have with me? I can assure you, some of the Sitters are almost certainly regretting the decision they made all those years ago."

She heard the sound of the door to her study being tried. Turning back around, she saw Moiraine collecting herself to depart. "Moiraine," she called out. "Stay, please. At least until Leane returns or until it is time for the announcement."

Moiraine's hand remained on the knob for a moment before she closed the door. "As you wish, Mother." She looked around the study before her eyes alighted on a bookshelf near her. Selecting a title, she opened to its index and set about immersing herself in its contents while Siuan read missives and signed orders. They waited in contented silence, an occasional rustling of looseleaf or turning of a page the only noises save the grains of sand plinking against the hourglass.

•

There was, understandably, a buzz of anticipation in the air as the last few women filed in. Siuan herself wanted to have the whole mess done with so she could move on to the next topic that clamored for her attention, but there was custom to follow. Moiraine had chosen a position halfway into the hall, a calming presence in a sea of turmoil. Leane still had yet to return from her errand; she hoped nothing had befallen her, or that would be one more stressful thing to take care of. She waited until a full minute had passed without a new arrival before stepping forward to the front of the hall.

The cacophony died. Siuan looked around the room, giving the impression of meeting every woman's eyes, before she cleared her throat. "Earlier today one of our sisters passed. Elaida do Avriny a'Roihan, in the midst of her duties as a Sitter of the Hall, breathed her last and is no longer with us. Some of you may know that Elaida was one of the last Aes Sedai gifted with the Talent of Foretelling, the last in the White Tower in twenty years. She had a Foretelling before she died, and the force of it was enough to end her life. I declare tonight a night of remembrance and prayer, in preparation for the mourning ceremony tomorrow."

"A word of caution concerning what Elaida Sedai Foresaw. She saw fire and storm and strife, a time that would shake the earth itself. There are terrible things on the horizon, trials that will test our mettle and our resolve to do what needs to be done. We must meet them head-on. We shall require everything of you, because we know that you expect any one of us to give everything in return. This is where we prove to the world why the White Tower exists, to defend it against the trials of tomorrow and safeguard it for the next day."

"For now, return to your rooms. Sisters will be available to explain the proceedings for tomorrow, or offer counselling if you require grieving tonight. All studies for tomorrow are cancelled to accommodate for the mourning ceremony." She paused, letting the words sink in. "Rest until tomorrow, daughters. Go now in the Light."

The company filed out, most women not knowing how to take the information. Many seemed given to introspection, and even those who came in talkative groups left in silence. Siuan watched them go with detachment. So young, some of them, and yet they would have to ask more of them than nearly any sister alive had ever had to accomplish. But, such was the harsh reality of the days ahead.

A bubble formed in the departing crowd around a figure fighting the flow in an attempt to reach her. She waited patiently for the woman to break free, though the wait was cut short by the Aes Sedai closest to the door who recognized her and gave way immediately. Leane, out of breath but without a hair out of place, closed the gap between them and curtsied low. "Mother, my apologies for my absence, but I felt it prudent to investigate what I found."

Siuan wanted for the last woman to file out, pointedly watching her leave, before returning to her Keeper. "Explain, Leane. What did you find?"

Leane took a breath, straightening. "I made my way to the stables as you asked, but by the time I reached the south stables I was too late. The groom on duty was lying on the ground – not dead, but...addled, as if his mind was no longer whole. I found the stable master and he confirmed that something had happened to the boy, because that was not his normal way. There were many empty stalls, horses and leads and saddles taken for an entourage of some size. I considered counting the empty stalls to determine their numbers but I didn't know how many horses may have been taken as mounts and how many as pack animals. I traced their path to the western gate, and the gate guard confirmed that a band of sisters had passed that way. They rode to the west, toward Dragonmount."

Siuan's brow furrowed. "Sisters? You mean full Aes Sedai."

Her Keeper nodded. "Yes, mother. Thirteen in total."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the point at which I'm no longer copy-pasting preexisting content and will have to wait to add chapters until they've actually been written. This is also the point where the single largest slow-down happened. Between charts comparing Ajah relations, Sitter interrelations, general personality traits, and backstories, I suddenly found an even larger time sink in trying to sort the entire thing out.
> 
> Parents, do the responsible thing. Don't let your daughter go the the White Tower.
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> -EJT


End file.
